Better Never than Late
by Witherwings01
Summary: 'They, who knew the steps I took, long ago, to guard myself against mortal death.' Lord Voldemort, 24th June, 1995. Voldemort's quest for immortality sets in motion a series of unintended consequences that even he could not have predicted. A 'what if' story set in year seven. H/Hr. Rated T.
1. Prologue

_**Disclaimer - **I own nothing of the Harry Potter universe. So there._

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**'Better Never than Late'**

**by Witherwings**

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**Prologue**

**2nd May, 1998**

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Someone was screaming.

An anguished cry of terror, sorrow and denial that echoed throughout the ruins of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Hermione Granger stood alone at the foot of the stairs to the main doors but did not need to look around to find the source of the most terrible noise. The small fragment of her mind which remained detached from the unfolding nightmare of the scene before her informing her that the sound was in fact emanating from her.

Spreading out in a line within the confines of what remained of the school courtyard were the countless robed figures of Lord Voldemort's Death Eaters, the unmistakable bulk of Rubeus Hagrid easily identifiable at the centre of the large group. His ankles were shackled, resulting in an awkward, shuffling gait, his usually friendly, beetle black eyes, just visible behind his tangle of hair and beard, looked hollow and shone with tears. His arms however had been left unbound, and cradled tenderly within them, the reason for both his haunted look and Hermione's uncontrolled outburst - the limp form of Harry James Potter.

Next to Hagrid's enormous, part giant physique, Harry appeared no larger than a small infant in comparison. But, where a child, even one deep in slumber, would have been curled protectively towards the body of the person who carried it, Harry's head instead lolled back over the crook of Hagrid's elbow, his perpetually messy hair swaying to and fro as Hagrid lumbered forwards.

_He can't be dead! He can't be dead! _The words repeated over and over again within the prison of Hermione's mind as she refused to accept what her senses were telling her. _It's a trick! It's not real. I would have felt it ... I would have known if he had ... If he had ..._

An explosion of grief in the pit of her stomach left her unable to complete her line of thought. Hot tears fell from her eyes, each tracing a random path in the dirt and grime which coated her pale skin as the crushing reality descended on her - Harry Potter was dead.

He had disappeared shortly after Lord Voldemort had issued an ultimatum for his surrender in the mists of the battle for control of the castle. She now knew, despite Neville Longbottom's assurances that he had seen Harry within the grounds of the castle less than half an hour earlier proclaiming that 'it was all part of the plan', that Harry had indeed surrendered himself to his nemesis. It was, she noted with a mixture of pride and despair, exactly the kind of noble act of self-sacrifice that only Harry would have been capable of. _Damn it Harry! You can't leave me ... Not now!_

Unnoticed, other members of the defeated army of the light now joined her on the front steps, and they greeted their vanquishers by shouting and yelling angrily towards the triumphant Death Eaters.

"SILENCE!"

For the first time, Hermione's eyes fell upon the soulless monster who had taken the most important person in her life away from her:_ Voldemort_. He raised his wand high overhead and silenced the crowd with blinding flash of light and a thunder-like clap of sound. The display of magic conjuring the image of a muggle tactical weapon known as a flash bang grenade in Hermione's mind, causing her to briefly wonder how her intellect could still concern itself with making such banal connections when her world was literally crumbling around her.

"It is over!" he proclaimed. "Set him down, Hagrid. Here at my feet ... where he belongs!"

No one made a sound. Even the morning chorus of the songbirds in the nearby forbidden forest seemed to fall silent as the crowd watched Hagrid lower Harry's limp body reverently to the ground. Hermione's stomach performing a pathetic sort of half flip as she bore witness to a scene which had plagued her nightmares for months. Were it not for the strong pair of hands which took hold of her shoulders at that moment, she knew she her knee's would have buckled beneath her; as it was, the sight of Harry's almost unblemished body caused her to sway unsteadily on her feet, an invisible chord pulling tight and constricting around her heart painfully as she realised the implications - only one spell could leave a victim so apparently unharmed yet prove so deadly.

Instinctively she dropped a hand to her abdomen just bellow her navel. The slight firmness she felt there offered a small modicum of comfort, but simultaneously served to drive home the magnitude of her devastating loss. _Our devastating loss,_ she corrected. _Our child will never know their father._

Lifting her gaze from her stomach, Hermione's face hardened as she locked her now deadened brown eyes on the pacing form of the vile creature who had stolen the man she had hoped to marry away from her.

The small part of her mind which maintained some semblance of control, noted with alarm that the earth shattering loss did not result in a renewed outpouring of grief. That realisation, however, was dismissed, forced deep within by another, more powerful emotion; for the first time in her life, Hermione Granger knew what it meant to experience true hatred. A murderous rage so powerful, that it would have truly frightened her had any rational part of her mind remained to analyse those emotions.

Distantly, as if heard from under water, Hermione registered that Voldemort was speaking again, but she could not take any meaning from the words, almost as if she had lost the ability to understand the spoken word.

"You see?" he said as he strode back and forth in front of Harry's body. "Harry Potter is dead! Do you understand now deluded ones? He was nothing but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him!"

"He beat you!" yelled a familiar voice at her side.

A torrent of sound erupted from the survivors on the heels of Ron's proclamation, whom, Hermione now realised was the owner of the hands which had prevented her from falling. For a moment, she felt a brief surge of gratitude towards her former best friend, the betrayal of his promise months earlier briefly forgotten.

That respite, however, was fleeting, and she stoked the flames of her rage by adding Ron's betrayal to the hatred she was permitting to fill her from the insides out, the words of Bellatrix Lestrange had once spoken to Harry reverberating in her mind as she constructed a new plan of action. _'You need to mean them. You need to really want to cause pain — to enjoy it'._

A second, more powerful explosion from the tip of the Elder wand silenced the masses again.

"He was killed while trying to sneak out of the grounds," continue Voldemort serenely. "Killed whilst attempting to flee - "

"LIES!" Hermione couldn't prevent the single word exploding past her lips.

Voldemort broke off, his scarlet eyes narrowing as he turned his serpent-like face towards the source of the shouted outburst. "And what do we have here?" he said, his voice a dangerous, soft hiss. "A volunteer to show what happens to those who dare to challenge me?"

Hermione was breathing in short, ragged gasps as if she had just run a marathon, but did not flinch under Voldemort's appraising stare.

"Hermione?" Ron's voice was barely a whisper in her ear, "What are you doing? He'll kill you! You know Harry wouldn't want - "

"Don't talk about him like you knew him!" screeched Hermione, apoplectic, and she shook free of her former friends grasp and took a defiant stride forward making herself known to the Dark Lord.

A cruel smirk twisted Voldemort's features. "A little girl?" he taunted, a wave of mirthless laughter erupting from the ranks of his Death Eaters. "Brave ... but foolish of you child. No mortal can challenge me now."

But Hermione wasn't listening any more. She cared little for the army of Death Eaters who would surely strike her down the moment she so much as raised her wand. Nor did she concern herself with the remaining Horcrux which anchored Voldemort to life, safe within Nagini, who lay coiled some ten meters behind Harry's body. Right now all she wanted to do was to cause Voldemort as much pain and suffering as she was able to bring to bear on him - to watch him die a drawn out, protracted and agonising death, even if she could not truly rid the world of his evil. In fact maybe it was better he was immortal? That way she could kill him a thousand times over, until he too knew the extent of the pain, the crushing emptiness, she felt right now. Only then might she show him the mercy he had never shown his victims and end his existence once and for all.

As if in slow motion, and without conscious effort, she levelled her wand arm towards Voldemort, ready to unleash the vile energies of the same curse he had obviously used against Harry. She opened her mouth, and, channelling all the hatred and rage, she spoke the incantation that would end his reign of terror.

However, just at that moment, as if someone had hit fast forward on a muggle video player, several things appeared to happen at once, so that, even with the benefit of hindsight, she still could not say precisely how events had unfolded.

To a man, everyone of Voldemort's Death Eaters unleashed a barrage of energy towards her. The curses devouring the distance between them before she had so much as completed the first word of the most unforgivable of all curses, whilst out of the corner of her eye she saw a figure moving towards her at a flat run.

"Hermione, no!"

She just had time to register the voice as that of Neville Longbottom's before she was tackled to the floor, the Death Eaters curses sizzling past overhead.

A grunt of pain escaped Hermione's lips as she and Neville landed in a heap on the unyielding stone, the immediate loosening of Neville's protective hold around her upper torso informing her that the fall had likely knocked her fellow Gryffindor unconscious. Still securely clasped in his right hand which pinned her to the floor however, was a piece of tatty fabric that Hermione initially mistook to be just that, before she finally recognised it for what it was - the sorting hat. Although what Neville was doing with the magical relic which had once belonged to Godric Gryffindor himself was of little concern to her as her eyes scanned the faceless crowd for a glimpse of Voldemort so that she might finish the job.

Just then, a new voice rang out across the near silent crowd.

"Leave her alone, Riddle!"

Time appeared to snap back to its normal rate of progression and Hermione's heart soared as the most beautiful sound in the world reached her ears, forcing the darkness within her to dissipate as quickly as it had arisen. _He's alive!_

Voldemort spun on his heel, his flat face contorting with fear and anger in equal measure as his gaze fell upon, not only the figure of boy prophesied to bring and end to his reign, but also of the sight of a great many of his Death Eaters fleeing in terror having witnessed Harry's apparent resurrection.

"Impossible," he raged, his veneer of serenity disappearing as quickly as that of many of his army.

"Confringo!"

A ball of flame shot from Harry's wand, but although his aim was true, and the spell consumed it's target in a raging inferno, Hermione knew it would neither destroy the giant snake nor the Horcrux it carried inside. After all, the blasting spell had little effect when she had cast the very same curse against the serpent during their escape from Godric's Hollow all those months ago. Sure enough, though hissing and spitting in fury, Nagini emerged from the fireball unscathed.

The scene around them dissolved into chaos. Harry disappeared from sight once more, but whether he was under his cloak or simply shielded from sight by the mass of fighters streaming towards one another as battle resumed, she could not say. The air was filled with spells of every hue imaginable, and a distant rumbling, which could be felt more than heard, vibrated through the ground Hermione lay upon.

"Neville!" she screamed, trying and failing to free herself from his dead weight as she sensed, rather than saw, the great snake move closer in the melee. "Neville, you've got to wake up!"

Then, and for the second time that day, more things than she could keep track of appeared to happen at once.

She became aware of a great weight pressing into her hip. At first she thought that perhaps Neville was at last stirring, before she realised that the extra mass was being exerted on her, came, not from her friend, but from within the sorting hat - something was materialising there.

Next, through the haze created by the renewed battle, Nagini sprang towards them, her jaw wide and her fangs bared, the sound of the snake's vicious hissing lost amid the twang of bows and stampeding hoofs - the centaurs had joined the fray she noted distractedly.

Then, as if jolted by an electric shock, Neville's body spasmed and his eye's flew open. Instinctively his hand groped within the rim of the sorting hat and he pulled from within it something long and sliver which glittered with rubies. He immediately swung the blade Hermione now recognised as the sword of Gryffindor upwards, and, although no one could hear either the slash of the blade or the enraged hissing of the serpent, Hermione could feel every eye in the courtyard upon them.

With a single stroke Neville sliced off the great snake's head and Hermione saw Voldemort stumble slightly, his mouth set in a silent scream of fury as the body of his final Horcrux fell to the ground with a thud which she felt more than heard.

Now freed from their tangle of limbs, both Hermione and Neville scrambled to their feet, and a moment later found themselves caught up within a swell of bodies being buffeted and shoved towards the great hall as the battle was forced inside by the rampaging centaurs and remaining giants.

Spells flew from all directions and Hermione defended herself as best as she could, but there were simply too many combatants to keep track of, too many variables. On more than one occasion she felt certain she had failed to block a curse in time just to see it ricochet away as if blocked by some unseen wall.

The impromptu triage Madam Pomfrey had set up in the Great Hall was over-run as the retreating Death Eaters were herded inside, sending several of the walking wounded, who had been been receiving treatment, diving for cover.

Spurred on by the string of orders being issued by their master, Voldemort's loyal inner circle of Death Eaters proved to be fierce fighters, nevertheless, when faced with the advantage in numbers enjoyed by the Light - their ranks now swelled with Centaurs and even the Hogwarts House-elves - one-by-one Voldemort's supporters fell until only Bellatrix Lestrange and Voldemort himself remained fighting.

A curse of unknown intent whizzed past Ginny's ear so close that Hermione, now duelling Bellatrix alongside Luna Lovegood and Ginny Weasley herself, feared that even with the advantage of numbers they would not prove victorious against the undeniable duelling skill of Voldemort and his crazed supporter.

She had not however counted on Molly Weasley. "NOT MY DAUGHTER YOU BITCH!"

The Weasley matriarch pushed past the three school girls and fought with the skill of a master duellist. Within moments Bellatrix Lestrange lay dead on the floor, her face forever more set in a misplaced gloating smile.

There was no chance to celebrate the victory however. Voldemort, enraged by the death of his best lieutenant, channelled all of his fury into his wand and blasted back Kingsley, Slughorn and McGonagall, whom he had been duelling, before turning his wand on Mrs Weasley.

"PROTEGO!" roared Harry's voice, a sparkling shield charm expanding in the middle of the room as he tore off his invisibility cloak.

Hermione took half a step forwards to be at his side, but Harry, although speaking loud enough for the whole room to hear him seemed to be talking directly to her. "I don't want anyone to help," he said beginning to circle the shield to keep it between himself and his nemesis. "It's got to be like this. Just me and him."

Trusting that Harry knew what he was doing, Hermione pulled herself up short and listened intently as Harry described how he had willing gone to his death and how that had extended the protection his mother had once given him to every man, woman and child he loved or cared for, preventing any of Voldemort's curses from doing deadly harm.

Furthermore, Harry, ignoring the taunting of the man whom had once been Tom Riddle, explained that the Elder Wand Voldemort had stolen from the tomb of Albus Dumbledore would never recognise him as it's true master for he had never defeated the one to whom the wand had chosen allegiance.

Though she was more terrified than at any moment in her life, her heart beating a heady rhythm in her chest, Hermione could not deny that she was hugely proud of Harry, both for how he was carrying himself, but also for the logical thinking he was displaying - _it all fit._

Nevertheless, when the two combatants shrieked their spells just at the moment the light of the new dawn spilled into the great hall, Hermione felt her heart freeze in her chest.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

"EXPELLIARMUS!"

The bang was like a cannon blast and the two spells collided at the centre of the circle they had been treading, their energies erupting in a golden flame. Hermione watched, as did every other pair of eyes in the hall, as Voldemort's green jet struck Harry's own; watched as the Elder Wand spun high overhead towards the outstretched hand of the master it would not kill.

With the skill she had seen him display in countless quidditch matches, Harry snatched the wand out of the air with his free hand as Voldemort fell backwards, arms splayed, his slit pupils vacant and unseeing. Tom Riddle was dead.

Hermione released a breath she had been unaware of holding and sprinted towards Harry, reaching him first and pulling him into a fierce hug as a tumultuous noise erupted from the throng of people pushing forwards towards their saviour.

Hermione was dimly aware of shouts of congratulations issuing from all sides but she could not make out their contents as the world around her appeared to shrink until her whole universe consisted of just her and Harry. She placed kisses on every part of him she could reach and inhaled his scent in an attempt to commit it to memory. "Don't - you - ever - scare - me - like - that - again," she managed to choke out between alternate sobs and kisses.

"I promise," began Harry holding her close so that his words were for her ears only. "It's over now. He can't hurt us any more. We can be together. We can be a family and raise our - " Harry broke off his assurances as he felt Hermione tense around him.

Hermione tried to call his name, but, though she worked the muscles of her jaw, only a hiss of pain escaped her trembling lips before she screwed her eyes tightly shut and doubled over in pain. She collapsed, first to her knees, gasping for breath, both of her hands protectively clamped around her abdomen, before toppling onto her side curled into the foetal position.

"HERMIONE!" Harry yelled, as he too dropped to the floor. "Somebody help her!"

All around her she could hear the commotion as numerous voices, both omnipresent yet distant at the same moment, called out for assistance, but she could not make out their meaning as she fought to remain conscious.

"Hermione! HERMIONE!" Harry's panic filled voice cut through the blinding pain once more and she used it as her anchor to the waking world, instinctively realising that to lose consciousness at this moment would be very grave. Through sheer force of will she lifted her head and regarded him with beseeching eyes. "T-the baby." The two words she managed to force past her lips were the merest of whisper, but the panic she saw reflected within Harry's emerald eyes told her he understood.

But before Harry had a chance to respond in any other manner, a new voice spoke above the commotion her collapse had caused; a voice both chillingly familiar and yet also completely alien.

"FOOLS!" The voice, though little more than a sigh on a distant breeze, conversely seemed to fill Hermione's world completely. "Did you really believe you could kill me? I, who have gone further than any other on his quest for immortality."

Based on the fact that no one else had reacted in any manner to the new voice, the part of Hermione's mind which remained detached from the now excruciating pain, reasoned that only she could hear it. Knowing she could not maintain her tenuous hold of consciousness much longer, Hermione forced her eyes to remain open for a few more seconds and she focused her gaze towards the corpse of Lord Voldemort.

What she saw there chilled her to the core.

_Mere shadow and vapour,_ the words Harry had once used to describe Voldemort's existence nearly seven years ago surfaced within her mind.

Coalescing above the Dark Lord's body rose a vaguely humanoid mist, it's features ill defined but nonetheless easily recognisable - Voldemort. Like a storm front making landfall, Voldemort's shadow rushed towards her, Hermione's last awareness that of a high pitched scream of terror renting the air as the cloud enveloped her.

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**Author Musings -** Hello everybody. Today marks one year to the day that I uploaded my very first piece of fanfiction, so, as an anniversary treat to myself, here's a preview of my next Harmony story.

I warn you now, it will not be completed anytime soon, but if you guys like it I'll keep working away at it in any spare time I get.

I would also like to thank the ever wonderful, Katesmom2 and HarmonyLover for their support, good humour and patience with me during the many months this has been on the drawing board. Thanks girls.

Oh, I should make clear that this is NOT the sequel to the Needs of the One. That is called The Needs of the Many, and is a WiP behind closed doors at the moment.

Until next time peeps...


	2. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer - **Jo Rowling owns the rights to the Harry Potter Universe._

_**A/N -** Keep a close eye on the dates of the chapters guys. There is a lot of time jumps in this tale!_

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**'Better Never than Late'**

**by Witherwings**

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**Chapter One - Wherever you go**

**26th December, 1997**

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The chain of the Horcrux tightened painfully around Harry's throat. Stars exploded in his vision and he scrabbled and flailed in vain as the chain of the locket strangled him in the depths of the icy pool he had plunged into to retrieve the sword of Gryffindor - ironically the only item which could destroy the very thing slowly choking the life from him.

_I'm dead_, he realised numbly, the edge of his vision already beginning to grey. He felt the icy cold hand of death clamp around his chest, and he embraced it, ceasing his frantic efforts to free himself - it would all be so much simpler, he found himself thinking, if it were to end here. But, before his oxygen starved mind could even begin to wonder how it came to be that deaths arms were so soft and slender, caressing as opposed to constricting, he found himself moving upwards.

He broke the surface and his skin immediately turned to goose flesh as he collapsed onto the snow covered forest floor, coughing, retching, and drawing in great gasps of precious, albeit frigid air.

Nearby, someone else was panting hard, coughing and staggering around.

"You came." Harry's voice, whilst weak owing to his near-strangulation, held a note of certainty. Despite the fact that he did not possess the strength to so much as lift his head to lay eyes on his saviour, he _knew _that Hermione had come for him again. Just like she had with the snake. Just like she had in the Department of Mysteries. Just like she had countless times before and since. She was the one constant in his life.

"Of course I c-came, Harry. I go wherever y-you go," replied Hermione through chattering teeth, her voice soft, yet holding a hint of a reprimand. "I w-oke up and found you g-gone," she continued. "I - I panicked. I was screaming your name - just sort of st-stumbling blindly through the forest when I found m-my wand lying on the floor, and I knew - I _knew_ you must have gone into the w-water ... "

Nothing but hearing the total desperation in his best friends tone (a desperation which made her voice falter in a manner that had very little to do with the piercing cold) could have given Harry the strength to get up. Shivering violently, he staggered to his feet.

There before him, stood his soaking wet, and thoroughly bedraggled best friend. Her mane of wild hair was plastered to her face, the sword of Gryffindor in one hand, and the Horcrux, dangling from its broken chain, in the other. Harry's hand shot to his neck in sudden realisation that the locket's chain was no longer cutting into his flesh, a hiss of pain issuing from his mouth as his fingers grazed over the burning wound he found there. She, like he, was stripped to her underwear, and Harry's cheeks reddened as he remembered his own similar state of undress, his embarrassment even more evident that usual on his freezing, faintly blue skin.

"Oh honestly, Harry!" Hermione scolded. "We've been sharing a tiny tent together for months. I'm sure you've seen more than this - " She waved a hand over her painfully thin waist. "I know I have," she added more quietly, directing a Mona Lisa smile towards the ground.

Harry bobbed his head in acceptance of the truth of her words. He had indeed seen _a lot_ more than he had bargained for during their sundering from the rest of the wizarding world, and couldn't prevent a coy smile of his own forming on his lips as some of _those_ memories filtered across his inner eye.

Eventually he lifted his gaze and found Hermione hurriedly gathering her haphazardly strewn garments together, roughly pulling a sweatshirt over her head. He suppressed an irrational feeling of disappointment that his best friend was covering her figure once more with shapeless jumpers and pullovers and padded over to his own, more neatly piled clothing.

"What on earth possessed you to come down here on your own anyway, Harry?" Hermione asked as she hopped around on one leg trying to pull her faded jeans over her wet skin with only limited success.

Harry's eyes widened as he slipped Hagrid's pouch around his neck as he recalled his motivations for leaving the relative safety of their warded tent. "The Doe!" he exclaimed. "Did you see it?"

Hermione stopped fumbling with the zipper of her trousers, her numb fingers obviously proving uncooperative and unequal to the task, and eyed Harry curiously. "There are over six hundred Fallow Deer in the forest, Harry."

"No, no," Harry replied, trying and failing to hide his small smile at yet another display of her encyclopaedic knowledge - it was just one of the many things he loved about her...

_Love_. He mentally drew himself up short. _Dangerous thoughts, Harry_, he chided inwardly, and he gave himself a little mental shake as he tried to force that particular line of thought deep within himself once more.

In retrospect he could not truthfully say when he had fallen for his best friend. His feelings had simply intensified naturally over time, until on one, now seemingly long ago, summer evening spent at the Burrow in the days before Bill and Fleur's wedding, he had finally been confronted with the stark reality of the intensity of his feelings for her.

He had spotted her from afar, leant against the broad trunk of one of the trees that protected the Weasley's private meadow from prying, muggle eyes, a heavy tome open on her crooked knees. She was absent mindedly twirling a strand of her wild locks through her fingers, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips as her brown eyes scanned the page. It was quintessentially Hermione; a pose he had seen her strike countless times in the past in the library or down by the great lake, but on this occasion, the sight of her engrossed in her reading caused his breath to catch and a flight of butterflies to form in his stomach. How was it that had he never noticed the many shades of brown and gold in her hair before? Or how her warm eyes could convey a smile even if it had not quite reached her lips? In that single moment, the truth of the matter had become clear to him; he was head over heels in love with Hermione Granger - had been for some time if he was being honest with himself.

Not that he could ever tell her that. How could he even think about ruining their friendship when it was obvious she didn't feel the same?

Even to someone as notoriously clueless as he when it came to matters of the heart, it was obvious, even to Harry, that Hermione held a flame for Ron. She deserved to be happy, and even if that happiness was dependent on the woman he loved being with another man - even one as petty and jealous as Ronald Weasley - Harry had made a silent vow not to stand in her way.

That resolve, however, had been severely tested earlier that very evening. Harry didn't know what had possessed him (in truth he had not sought an answer to that particular thorny question), but having witnessed how withdrawn Hermione had grown since Ron desertion, Harry had invited her to dance. A request she had accepted only slightly reticently, that almost smile that he so adored evident in her eyes as he pulled her backwards onto their makeshift dance floor in the centre of the tent, her Mona Lisa smile morphing into a wide goofy grin as he shimmied and twirled her about the space.

It had taken every ounce of self control he possessed not to simply take her in his arms and kiss her there and then as they swayed slowly on the spot whilst the doleful tune slowed and faded to nothing, her head rested contentedly on his shoulder, the smell of her hair intoxicating to him as he attempted to commit the scent to memory.

She had stepped back from him then, her brown eyes filled with ... _something_, that had tested Harry's resolve even further. A fleeting look which Harry read as one of deep longing that was so brief he had spent much of his long night time guard duty wondering whether he had truly seen anything there at all.

Realising he had probably been silent too long, he continued, in what he hoped was his usual timbre. "I think it was a Patronus. It led me right to the sword before it just ... disappeared."

Hermione's eyes slid involuntarily to the great silver cross lying on the floor at her still bare feet. "If it was a Patronus," she said, obviously thinking aloud, "then someone must have conjured it to guide you to the sword."

"Did you see anyone?" Harry made a slow turn on the spot, raking the dark silhouettes of the surrounding trees with his green eyes.

Hermione made to shake her head, but hesitated as a snatch of memory from her frantic race through the forest in search of Harry returned. "I thought I saw ... _something_," she admitted. "Over there." Her eye line came to rest on two trees growing closely together a few dozen yards away. "But I was only thinking about getting you out of the pool - "

Hermione's unnecessary apology trailed away as Harry spun on his heel and hurried up the slight embankment to the place Hermione had indicated. The gnarled trees grew very close together here; a gap of only a few inches between their trunks at the base. An ideal place to see and not be seen, he mused, although the ground around the roots was completely undisturbed.

"Anything there?" Hermione asked.

"Nothing," replied Harry laconically.

"Well if there was someone there and they didn't want to be discovered, they could have easily obliterated their footprints after they cast the Patronus and hid the sword."

"But if they wanted to help," wondered Harry aloud. "Why not just give me the sword?"

"I - I don't know, Harry" Hermione admitted. "But at least someone _is_ helping us."

"If forcing me to dive into an icy pool in the middle of winter is someone's idea of help..." His point made, Harry's voice drifted away as a new thought occurred to him. "How do we even know it's the real one?"

"Only one way to find out, isn't there," said Hermione, nodding towards the still swinging Horcrux.

To Harry's eye it looked as though the locket was twitching slightly, as if the piece of soul inside was agitated, perhaps sensing the presence of the very thing that could destroy it.

Squinting around in the darkness, Harry's eyes fell on just what he had been looking for: a flattish rock lying under the canopy of a sycamore tree. "Here," he said scrubbing the crystallised snow from it's surface with one hand whilst wordlessly holding his other hand out for the Horcrux; a request Hermione silently acknowledged by slipping it into his palm. "I'm going to open it and you're going to stab it."

"Me?" squeaked Hermione, her frustration at sounding like a nine year old evident on her features.

"You," confirmed Harry confidently. How he came to know, he could not be certain, but he _knew_ that Hermione had to be the one to wield the sword, just as surely as he known that the Doe would cause him no harm.

To Hermione's credit, she did not protest further, her mien hardening into a look of pure determination as she hefted the sword of Gryffindor in both hands.

"One ... Two ... Three ... _Open!"_

Where the sudden inspiration to open the locket using Parseltongue had come from, Harry did not know. Perhaps it was because of how easy it had been to visualize the glittering emerald 'S' atop the locket as a snake curled up on a rock, or perhaps he had always suspected as much deep down. Regardless, his last word issued as a hiss and a snarl and the golden doors of the locket promptly swung open with a soft click.

Harry felt the bile rise in his throat as his gaze fell upon what resided behind the glass of both windows; two living eyes - dark and handsome as Riddle's own had been before he had mutilated his soul and turned them scarlet and slit like. Both eyes wore equal looks of panic, the locket trembling violently as Harry held it firm against the rock.

"Stab it," ordered Harry, fighting to hold the bucking Horcrux still on the rock.

Hermione nodded resolutely and raised the weighty sword in her clammy hands, trying to align the pointed tip over the now frantically swivelling eyes, but she hesitated as a voice issued from the Horcrux in a soft hiss; a voice that had tormented her for weeks whilst the Horcrux tore at her very soul during the long hours it had resided around her neck.

_"I have seen your heart, and it is mine."_

"Don't listen to it, Hermione! Stab it!"

Hearing Harry calling her name appeared to fortify Hermione, and she tightened the grip on the ruby encrusted handle ready to plunge. But the locket, perhaps sensing her momentary hesitation continued in it's most persuasive tone;_ "I have seen your dreams, Hermione Granger, and I have seen your fears. All that you __desire is possible, but so is all that you dread..."_

"Stab it, Hermione!" Harry's booming voice echoed off the surrounding trees but Hermione did not so much as flinch, her gaze fixed on Riddle's dark eyes.

_"Un-missed by the family that no longer remembers you... Unnoticed by the friend you love... Forever condemned to settle for second best... "_

Harry sensed the magical energy emanating from the locket increase exponentially and he held it tighter still, afraid of what was coming, but before he could once more urge Hermione to end it, Riddle's eyes gleamed crimson and Harry threw himself away from the now white hot and glowing locket.

It truth, he had expect something like this - the diary had tried to kill him after all - but it would be an outright lie to claim he had predicted anything close to the two grotesque, but evidently human forms, ballooning out of each window, their features resolving into the faces that were unmistakably those of himself, and, even more surprisingly, that of Ginny Weasley.

"Hermione, kill it!"

But Hermione appeared frozen in fear, starring unblinkingly at the Ginny avatar, her head shaking from side to side furiously as her lips mouthed the word '_no_' over and over again.

"_Why did you take Harry from me?" _the Riddle-Ginny demanded_. "He would have been safe with me. Safe with my family ... "_

_"Family!" _the Riddle-Harry echoed, his features twisted in malice_. "A family of purity. How could you ever think I would want you when I could have this?" _he taunted, entwining his body around the Riddle-Ginny, their forms merging as their lips touched.

Harry starred agog at first Hermione and then at the depiction of he and Ginny and back again several times, his mind racing but conversely feeling as if someone had filled it with quick drying cement as he assimilated the meaning of Riddle's cruel torment. _Could it be? _Was it possible that Hermione harboured the same feelings he did toward her?

"HERMIONE!" he yelled and tried to lunge toward the locket, but was hurled backwards with the force of a small tornado, landing hard on the frozen ground forcing a hiss of pain past his bared teeth.

_"How could you ever compete with this?"_ crooned the Riddle-Ginny, her form now joined by three small children. The two boys and a girl, who, with their combination of fiery red or jet black hair, could only be the offspring of this supposed union. They whispered amongst themselves, shooting very un-childlike glares of hatred towards Hermione who looked on forlornly, the sword of Gryffindor hanging limply at her side, as the Riddle-Ginny taunted her further:

_"Why would the Chosen One choose you? The Boy Who Lived deserves only the best for his children...Heirs not tainted with your dirty muggle blood..."_

_Big mistake_, thought Harry as he scrambled to his feet ignoring the stab white hot pain in his side which suggested he had cracked a rib.

With a primal cry of rage, and a look of fury in her brown eyes, Hermione raised the sword high over head and swung it down hard. There was a clang of metal and a long drawn out scream as the great silver cross cleaved through the Horcrux, leaving only the shattered, slightly smoking ruin of the locket resting on the rock.

The sword clattered again as it slipped from Hermione's grasp, and she fell to her knees, her eyes downcast towards her shaking and now empty hands which were wringing in her lap.

Harry too fell to his knees, soft reassurances slipping past his lips, the discomfort he would have normally experienced around an emotionally distraught member of the opposite sex absent. After all this wasn't just some girl - this was Hermione; _his_ Hermione, and she needed him.

He ran a finger over her cheek, pulling it away wet with tears from the silent sobs that were raking through her body. But although intended as a gesture of comfort, it seemed to act more like an electric shock to his best friend and she bounded to her feet.

"We'll catch our deaths out her," she mumbled as she quickly gathered up the still smoking locket, sword and her remaining garments before she striding purposefully away in the general direction of the tent, her wand light bobbing disorientatingly as she wiped at the tear tracks from her cheeks.

Scrambling to his feet and ignoring the pain in his grating ribs, Harry pounded after her determined not to let her sweep her feelings underneath the rug as they had both obviously been doing for God only knew how long. He called after her as he slipped and scrambled through the icy undergrowth. "Hermione! Hermione? Wait! We've got to talk about this."

"J-just forget about it, Harry," she pleaded, quickening her stride further. "Please?"

As her last word tumbled from her lips, Harry caught up to her, and he ensnared his left palm around her right wrist and turned her to face him. "Hermione," he pleaded, her wand light pointed towards the ground hiding her face in shadow. "Hermione," he repeated in a softer tone, releasing her wrist now certain she wouldn't flee, his hand instead cupping her cheeks and gently cajoling her to meet his gaze. "Is it true? Is it true what the Horcrux said? Do you ... do you _love_ me?"

"Why would it lie?" _when the truth hurts so much more_, she added wordlessly.

"How long?"

Hermione's voice was the merest of whispers. "I don't know," she admitted truthfully. "A long time I guess. But I don't expect anything from you, Harry," she added hastily, her words all but tumbling over one another. "We can just forget about this and go back to how things were. I know how you feel about me."

"And how is that?" he asked now standing so close to her than he could feel the warmth of her breath on his skin.

"As a sister," she ventured, her tone now holding just a hint of doubt, although not sufficient to alter her statement into a question.

Harry shook his head, not trusting his voice to convey the depths of his feelings toward her. Instead he slipped his free hand down her trembling arm and pointed the glowing tip of her wand upwards, chasing the shadows from both of their features, his green eyes shining with unspoken love he hoped she would recognise.

Hermione gasped. "Bu - but what about Ginny? You love Ginny."

"No," he said, slowly shaking his head once more. "Not really. I do care for her a great deal, Hermione, but I don't love her." When it became clear that Hermione was too stunned by his revelation to comment, Harry continued. "I just followed your advice ... albeit advice not directed at me at the time," he added by way of clarification in response to Hermione's look of confusion. "You once told Ginny that she should try dating other guys to get over her crush on me, well ... "

Understanding bloomed in Hermione's eyes as Harry's voiced trailed away, and for a moment the two friends stood starring into on another eyes on the precipice of something neither one had dared to hope would ever come to pass.

Summoning every ounce of his Gryffindor courage, Harry tipped her chin back slightly and pressed his lips tenderly against hers, a wave of joy surging through him, as, after the merest of stunned hesitations, Hermione returned his embrace with matching passion, entwining her fingers into his still soaking wet hair as her other hand roamed over his back under the material of his jumper turning his skin to goose flesh again.

For the second time that evening, Harry couldn't breathe, his heart seemed to have swelled to three times its usual size and was beating an irregular pattern against his ribs, his world receding to nothing more than the smell, taste and feel of the beautiful witch entwined around him, forcing all thoughts of the freezing clothes clinging to his wet body from his mind...

"What - The - Bloody - Hell - Is - Going - On?" The unexpected but all too familiar voiced sounded out from somewhere nearby.

Startled, Harry and a Hermione jumped apart from their compromising position like two of the skittish deer which called the forest home. They did not, however, release their hold of each other.

"Ron?" asked Harry, squinting into the oppressive blackness of the forest, the brief surge of delight that he had experienced as he registered the voice of his oldest male friend dissipating quickly as he assimilated both the content and the tone of Ron's words.

"So this is how it is?" spat Ron, who stood at the top of a slight incline, backlit against the light emanating from the tent which lay just out of sight over the rise. "Wait for the third wand to get out of your hair so you can shag one another senseless?"

Harry released his grip on Hermione and took a step forwards, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "Never let me hear you speaking that way about Hermione again, Ron." His voice was low and menacing, the same corrosive hatred he had experienced when he had last laid eyes on his former friend resurfacing with a vengeance. Although this time he knew he could not blame those feelings on the now destroyed piece of Voldemort's soul which had so poisoned the atmosphere between the three friends for so many weeks. "If you'll recall, you left _us_!"

His last shouted words echoed around the closely clustered tree trunks.

"Yeah, well," spluttered Ron, the tips of his ears turning so violent a shade of crimson that his building anger was visible even in the inky blackness which pressed against them from all sides, "I came back, didn't I?"

"Well we don't want you," retorted Harry, now just a handful of paces away from the redhead.

The muscles in Ron's jaw tensed. "And you?" he asked, turning his gaze down the slight incline towards Hermione. "Still wanna shack up with the famous, Harry Potter?"

_CRACK!_

The sound like that of a muggle riffle echoed though the forest, but it took Hermione several seconds to piece together what had occurred.

"You're bloody mental!" cried Ron who now lay on the floor and was using his legs to back-pedal away from Harry who was standing over his former friend massaging the knuckles of his right hand. "You hit me? You actually bloody hit me?"

"Just be thankful I haven't got my wand," replied Harry in a deadened monotone. "Now get lost! I don't ever want to see your face again."

"FINE!" shouted Ron, and a second, far louder crack filled the night air and Ron disappeared leaving Harry and Hermione alone once more.

* * *

_**Author Musings** – So we've jumped back in time a bit. This extended flashback (it will stretch for another couple of chapters) will allow us the chance to see what single change instigated the alternative conclusion of the Battle of Hogwarts in the prologue, namely that Ron returns just a few minutes later than in canon - hence one meaning of the title of the story. We'll get back to Harry, Hermione and the baby soon - I promise._

_I guess this is as close to Ron bashing as I'll ever get, but I don't really see it as such. To my mind, bashing is the false demonization of a character, whereas I truly believe that canon Ron would have reacted in this knee-jerk manner._

_My thanks go to my fantastic friends, Katemom2 and HarmonyLover for helping bring the story to life. A special thanks also goes to Romantic Silence, who very kindly allowed me to borrow a line of his own creation ('Why would it lie? When the truth hurts so much more...'). It fitted so perfectly into the story, that I just had to ask if I could use it. Cheers pal._

_Till Next time Peeps _

_Wings_


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N's - **_C__an I ask you all to put your hands together in appreciation of my guest beta, Harmony Lover. She REALLY knows her stuff, and is one hell of a storyteller herself. If you haven't already, I urge you to check out her profile._

**Disclaimer **_- I bought a flat pack disclaimer from Ikea (other Swedish furniture stores are available...probably), but I've put it together back-to-front. Does that mean I now own Potter? No? Blast! _

* * *

**_'Better Never than Late'_**

**_by Witherwings_**

* * *

**Chapter Two - Somebody That I Used to Know**

**26th December, 1997**

* * *

Not caring about the possibility of being splinched again, Ron began aimlessly pacing almost before his body completely materialized on the windswept beach near his brother and sister-in-law's home in Cornwall - the first place that had come to mind when he had disapparated away following his argument with Harry moments earlier.

Too embarrassed by his behaviour to return to the Burrow, Ron had spent several weeks living with Bill and his new bride in the quaint, shell-clad house, which had become not only a first marital home for his eldest brother and Fleur, but also a place where he had sought and been given refuge the first time he had walked out on his two best friends, making it a logical destination now that he had done much the same thing again.

Back then, he had wanted to return almost immediately; not, as he had taunted Harry mere moments ago, for her, but for _them_. For whilst he could not deny that he _had_ meant all of the hurtful things he had said to Harry before he stormed out of the tent that miserable, wet evening back in November, he had equally come to recognise that the Horcrux had made everything feel a hundred times worse.

True enough, he was then, and remained so to this day, dreadfully worried about the safety of his family during such dark times, but he certainly hadn't intended to imply that it was somehow a good thing that Harry had been orphaned in infancy - that dark thought originating instead from the Horcrux which had hung around his neck. That whispering, taunting voice, that could only be heard whilst the chain of the locket hung like a millstone around his neck, had also managed to twist Hermione's realisation, that they did know of an item which could destroy the fragmented pieces of Voldemort's soul (the sword of Gryffindor), into yet another challenge with no solution in sight, rather than the spark of hope it should have represented.

Long hours of silent contemplation alone in his room at the cottage had taught him that the prospect of hunting down, as he had once phrased it, 'yet another damn thing', should have been the very catalyst for their task to begin in earnest and not a reason for their relationship to fracture. Consequentially, when the opportunity to return had presented itself to him on Christmas day, he had jumped at it.

However seeing them like that – _together,_ soaking wet and all but ripping one another's clothing off in a passionate tryst had brought back all of the feelings of animosity and jealousy that had motivated his abrupt departure in the first place.

_I knew it!_ He thought as he massaged his bruised faced in the spot Harry's fist had made contact with his jaw - it was going to leave one hell of a bruise. "I BLOODY WELL KNEW IT!"

Several startled seagulls took flight as his booming voice filled the air, but, even as he roared his frustrations to the heavens, he could feel his fit of piqué ebbing away with every step he took along the lapping water's edge. His feelings of hurt, resentment and jealousy disappearing like grains of sand held in an open hand no matter how hard he tried to hold onto them.

His mind now a jumble of conflicting thoughts and emotions he pulled his collar up against the icy sea breeze, shoved his hands deep into his pockets, and allowed his feet to carry him blindly along the shore, each long stride accompanied by a soft, plunger-like sound as he pulled his trainers through the water-logged sand.

After an indeterminate period of time, he noted dimly that his feet had brought him to a halt, and he shifted his gaze from the patch of sand he had been studying a meter in front of his stride towards the horizon. There, just moving into his line of sight where he had rounded a curve in the beach, was a small rectangle of light visible in the distance, its orange glow illuminating the beach like a lantern, welcoming him home - _Shell Cottage_. The light looked warm and inviting, and it evoked the ghost of a smile on his face as he recalled the many happy childhood memories of this place.

It had once belonged to his Great Aunt Tessie, and the tiny cottage had often rung with the sounds of laughter, merriment, and frivolity, as he, and the rest of his large family had spent many a carefree summer holiday exploring the desolate beauty of the cottage and it's surroundings.

_And where is that carefree child now?_ asked a snide voice from deep within. _Would he even recognise the __resentful young man you have become? Would that boy have abandoned his friends? Would he have walked out on them, not once, but twice, because he was jealous? _

Ron sank to his knees unable to deny the accusations. _No! _he answered silently._ He would have found it abhorrent. _To a Weasley, family was everything, and what was Harry if not an extended member of his family? A brother in all but name. And Hermione? Well, Hermione was ... _more_, much more. In truth he had loved her for as long as he could remember, although he would be the first to admit that it had taken him far too long to realise as much.

He raked his hands through his flaming hair. "What have I done?" he whispered, not caring as the freezing water quickly leached into the fabric of his jeans as he sank a few centimetres into the water-logged sand, his question remaining unanswered as the only sound that filled the air was that of the gentle fizzing of the foamy water as it retreated back down the beach prior to the next breaker.

_And what did you expect? _continued his inner voice, posing the same questions he had seen in the eyes of his brother Bill, unspoken, but accusing nonetheless. _To be welcomed back with open arms when you had deserted them? You left them alone, hungry, hunted and afraid - of course they would take comfort in one another!_

"Shit!"

Recognising his stupidity, Ron sprang to his feet and shoved his right hand deep into the pocket of his jeans, his fingers closing around the one item that could offer him redemption. Pulling Dumbledore's Deluminator out of his pocket, he unclenched his fist to reveal it's pristine surface glinting in the flickering light cast by the moon as clouds chased across it's waning crescent.

When Rufus Scrimgeour, the former (now deceased) minister of magic, had presented Dumbledore's creation to him, Ron had been unable to comprehend the wording of the headmaster's bequest; words that were now indelibly etched into his consciousness._ 'To Ronald Bilius Weasley, I leave my Deluminator. A device of my own making in the hope that when things seem most dark, it will show him the light'._

He had not understood at the time - to his mind surely the Deluminator acted in the opposite manner, removing all sources of illumination as opposed to 'showing him the light' - but those words had now taken on great meaning to him since he realised that Dumbledore had been speaking metaphorically; the deluminator acted instead as something of a homing beacon to the light of his life - _Hermione_.

It had been less than twenty-four hours ago that he had heard her voice issuing from the magical device, and, acting purely on instinct, he had clicked it and discovered the true function of Dumbledore's creation. The light in his room had been extinguished, but a second, far brighter light had appeared; a light which had taken him straight to her – although the protective enchantments around their camp had meant it had been another twelve hours, and another change of location, before he had finally heard their voices somewhere in the dark.

His fingers fumbling, both from the cold and in apprehension as to what sort of greeting he could expect upon finding them, Ron flicked open the cap and concentrated with all his might of the mental image of his two best friends before pressing his thumb onto the button with an audible click.

Nothing happened.

"Come on, come on." His voice was the same low encouraging tone he often used when urging his broom to go faster during quidditch training, and he pressed the button again...

... and again ...

... and again ...

Frowning, Ron gave the magical device a little shake and held it up to his ear as if trying to diagnose a possible fault by sound alone. Finding nothing amiss, he proceeded to thumb the little switch more times that he could count until he was all but pounding the button with the palm of his hand.

"No!" he cried, frustration lacing his tone. "You can't break now! I need to get back." In a fit of rage, he hurled the Deluminator towards the ground where it bounced on the springy sand and landed inverted on a small pebble.

From several hundred meters away, a small ball of orange light, which had previously been illuminating one of the ground floor windows of Shell Cottage, raced across the flat sands towards him and he instinctively deduced that impact must have depressed the button once more. Moving faster than his eyes could accurately follow, the tiny sphere devoured the distance between them and promptly disappeared inside the Put-Outer.

Ron released a breath he was unaware he had been holding. "Thank Merlin," he murmured as he bent down to retrieve the now slightly dented silver cylinder.

Clicking the button once more sent the globe of light racing back to its rightful home and Ron watched it go until it was once more just a rectangle of light in the distance. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and once more conjured the crystal clear image of Hermione in his mind's eye and clicked the Deluminator.

Still nothing happened.

It was then that he realised that it was not the Deluminator which had broken, but instead the bond of their friendship. Hermione had always forgiven him before, no matter how badly he had wronged her, but now it seemed that his inability to master the green-eyed monster which lived inside him had, perhaps irreversibly, damaged their relationship, rendering the magical device unable to transport him to them ... to _her_.

He had come to realise, during the long hours he had waited for either Hermione or Harry to show themselves, that Dumbledore had bequeathed the device to him because, somehow, he had known that he alone of the trio would want to leave – or that he would want to return depending on which way you chose to look at it. But now it seemed as though he was out of second chances. He knew that he could never return.

The weight of that realisation caused his knee's to buckle under him, and he half sat, half collapsed to the cold sand, his heart beating in an irregular fashion against his ribcage as the first tears he could remember shedding in many years slipped down his cheeks._ I've blown it. I've lost her for good._

How long he sat there with his unseeing eyes fixed on a point far out to sea, he could not say. In retrospect, it proved long enough for the deep blue hues which heralded the new dawn to define the boundary between sea and sky, as the splash of colour chased away the inky blackness of night revealing the almost infinite line of the horizon.

He had stood then, his muscles protesting vociferously following their long period of inactivity, but he was resolute in his decision. If he could not return to Harry and Hermione, then neither could he return to his comfortable life either at Bill's home or even at the Burrow. Without really knowing where it would take him, Ron clicked the Deluminator, a single thought reverberating through his mind;

_What do I do now?_

This time the blueish ball of light did spring into existence less than a meter in front of him. Without so much as a backward glance, he stepped into the light and disapparated away without a sound.

* * *

"Harry. Harry? Harry, wait!" Hermione scrambled through the undergrowth in pursuit of her best friend - _boyfriend?_

In the faintly blue glow of her wand light bobbing along ahead of her, Hermione was able to snatch brief glimpses of the white soles of Harry's trainers, his long strides carrying him slowly but surely, further and further ahead of her. Not that she needed her sense of sight to track him; Harry was making such a racket as he stormed through the forest, Hermione was surprised that they hadn't brought Lord Voldemort himself down on them. His feet crunched loudly through the snow-covered detritus of the forest floor, as his legs tore leaves from low growing ferns and he snapped branches off trees with his arms as he pounded his way in the general direction of the tent.

The brief moment of bliss she had shared with him just a few short minutes earlier had vanished. It was as if the kiss he had instigated was less than a dream; a dream replaced by a nightmare she feared she might not wake from. She had never before seen Harry so angry.

She broke into a run and closed the distance between them. "Harry, wait! You've got to talk to me about this." Their roles reversed, she made a grab for his wrist and spun him to face her.

"What's there to talk about, Hermione?" snapped Harry, his cheeks flushed. "He's a foul git and he's never coming back!"

They had come to a halt in the small clearing they had pitched the tent in, a dozen meters or so from the entrance to their make-shift home. Harry was breathing hard, both from his palpable anger directed towards the youngest Weasley son, and from the exertion of pushing his way through the snow covered flora of the woods. However, in the light which emanated from the tent's triangular opening, Hermione could see that Harry had instantly regretted snapping at her.

"Look," he began in a far softer tone of voice, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you. He's just got me so mad, what is his problem anyway?"

Hermione's face grew pensive as she wondered if could even bring herself to defend a man she had, for a time, believed she could want to be with. "You've got to see it from his point of view," she said at length, settling on the truth as opposed to trying to defend his actions. "He was jealous."

"And what the bloody hell does he have to be jealous of?" retorted Harry, his anger bubbling over once more. "I don't recall him ever living in a God damn cupboard or having to wear hand-me-down clothes from his seriously overweight cousin. When's he ever wondered what it's like to know a Mother's love, or had to put up with the constant whispers behind his back because of something he did when he was too young to even remember it! For that matter, I'm pretty sure he's never gone to sleep wondering when the madman who has been trying to kill him for the last sixteen years is finally going to catch up with - "

Harry fell silent as Hermione pressed her index finger against his lips. She slid her other hand down from his arm and tentatively pulled his fingers open where they had balled into fists at his side. When her cajoling met with no resistance she rewarded him with a soft smile.

"Harry, I - "

For once words seemed to fail her and instead she moved closer to him, until their chests, both still heaving from the exertion of their dash through the forest, were all but touching. Never once breaking eye contact, she rose up on tiptoes so that she was now gazing directly into his emerald eyes, their noses mere millimetres apart, her brown eyes shining in the flickering shaft of light projected through the open tent flap. Harry's Adam's apple bobbed up and down as her saw a surge of emotion he didn't dare name reflected in their depths.

"This." Her voice was a sultry whisper as she offered him the only answer she could to his earlier question. She inched closer, her eyes already half closed as she pressed her lips against his.

Immediately she felt all the tension drain from Harry's body, and he returned the kiss with fervour. She let go of his hand, partly so that she could wrap her arms around his neck, but equally so that his left hand might join the other that was already snaking around her waist, pulling her closer to him, so that their shadowy silhouettes appeared to merge in the gloom.

Some time later, Hermione dropped back onto her heels and opened her eyes as she looked up at the face of the man she had so long held a flame for, her cheeks taking on a tinge of colour as she recognised the undisguised look of longing etched on his features.

Wordlessly, she retook his hand, and, with a small, seductive smile gracing her lips, led him inside the tent.

* * *

She awoke the following morning feeling warm and content for the first time since they had abandoned Grimmauld Place several months prior. Although why that should be the case, she could not immediately fathom. Even through her closed eyelids, the diffused quality of the light inside the tent was easily recognisable. So why she should have awoken to anything other than the familiar discomfort of stiff limbs and joints brought on by the penetrating chill of the cold and draughty tent?

She noted that it could not have been long after sunrise for although the dawn chorus was already in full swing outside, aside from the chatter of at least a dozen different species of bird, the surrounding woodland was still and quiet.

Inhaling deeply, Hermione allowed the earthy smell of the woodland to penetrate right to her core, the subtle aroma stirring childhood memories held deep within her consciousness of a family trip to this very spot. Although intellectually she knew the smell to be a by-product of the bacteria found anywhere where there was soil or decaying vegetation, she did not care to question why it was that only the aroma of this place (as opposed to the countless other wooded areas they had pitched their tent) could unlock those long-forgotten memories - that link to her past offering her both a modicum of comfort and a spark of hope that one day she would be able to find her parents and restore their memories to them.

It was then that she registered that the several layers of clothing she donned each evening before bed in an attempt to ward off the chill were absent. Not only was she naked, covered only by one of the all-too-thin, and scratchy blankets that had been left in the tent by it's previous owner, but she was also pinned, rather effectively, by the dead weight of an arm that was not her own, it's muscular curve snaking around her body from behind, a warm hand pressed against her bare stomach.

All this happened within moments of awakening, and Hermione permitted herself a soft smile as the memories of the previous night returned shortly thereafter, the details of which brought a tinge of colour to her cheeks.

Twisting within the prison of those strong arms, she opened her eyes and smiled up at the sleeping form of the man she had never believed she could know with such intimacy. She had expected her first time with a man - any man - to be tentative, a little uncertain perhaps, and maybe even somewhat painful. And whilst all those words could be used to accurately describe her first sexual encounter, with Harry it had been far, far deeper than that. Passionate, but loving. Urgent, yet oh so tender. Uncomfortable but blissful in the same instant. It was, in short, the most intense experience of her life. So much so that even the memory caused her heart to skip a beat and her breath to catch in her throat.

Rearranging the blanket to preserve her modesty (although after all that she had done the previous night she could not say why), Hermione tipped her chin upwards and placed a chaste kiss on Harry's slightly parted lips, which curved into the ghost of a smile as he returned to the waking world and reciprocated.

"G'Morning." His voice issued as a low rumble from somewhere deep inside his chest. The sound turned Hermione's skin to gooseflesh.

"Good morning yourself," she replied brightly, wordlessly accepting his unspoken offer to snuggle into his side.

As Harry pulled her closer with his left arm, which still curled protectively around her shoulders, Hermione hitched her left knee up onto his thigh and revelled in the simple pleasure of listening to the rhythmic thumping of Harry's heartbeat whilst he traced aimless patterns on the the exposed skin of her waist and hip with his right hand.

How long they lay like that, Hermione did not attempt to keep track of, but, when Harry next spoke, his voice had shaken off the after effects of sleep. "I could get used to waking up like this."

Hermione signalled her agreement with a nod which tickled her cheek against Harry's chest hair. "I could get used to last night too," she added.

She watched as a duplicate of the gentle smile that had graced her lips earlier appeared on Harry's features as he obviously replayed the memory of their night together in his mind. But before she could put voice to her desire to relive those moments in a far more _physical_ manner, Harry abruptly twisted to face her: His smile collapsed and his eyes widened in panic, his gaze flitting down to her stomach and back up to her eyes.

"Y-you don't think that we could have ... um ... That you might be ... "

Understanding the source of his obvious discomfort, Hermione voiced what Harry had been incapable of saying. "Pregnant?" she offered. "And you are only thinking of this now?" It was a a rebuke, but she couldn't fail to note that it did not carry the weight she might have expected, her tone instead carrying with it an obvious teasing quality.

"Um, yeah," he replied, offering her a sheepish smile. "Isn't there a spell or something we need to do?"

"No, Harry. No spell can do that - "

"So ... you could be?" Harry interrupted, the colour draining from his cheeks. "I'm gonna kill R - "

Ignoring the elephant that had appeared in the room as soon as Harry had stumbled over the mention of his former friend, Hermione continued. "There is a potion - " she explained, silently vowing that, should the war ever come to an end, she would speak with Professor McGonagall about making sex education compulsory at Hogwarts. Judging by Harry's, and by extension, Ron's, woeful knowledge of family planning, it was a mystery to her that the school didn't need a crèche to care for all the unplanned student pregnancies. " - I have all of the ingredients in my bag. As long as I brew a batch up today, we'll be fine." She punctuated her point by freeing one foot from their blanket and using it to give the bag, which rested nearby on a stool, a prod; her actions eliciting a sound like chinking glass from the depths of the magically enlarged holdall.

Harry visibly relaxed. "Thank God!" he said, before quickly realising how that exclamation might have sounded. "Not that I wouldn't want to have kids with you someday, Hermione," he corrected quickly. "In fact I can't think of anything that would make me happier. But bringing a child into the world right now would be about the worst thing we could do."

Hermione nodded and pushed away the irrational wave of disappointment that she wouldn't be carrying the child of the man she loved any time soon. "You're right of course," she said. "But I can't help wishing our lives didn't have to be on hold like this."

"All the more reason to find and destroy the remaining Horcruxes. I've got something to live for now and I fully intend on doing just that..."

Whatever else Harry had intended to add was lost as Hermione's lips crashed against his, driving all thoughts - save the feel and the heat of the beautiful witch in his arms - from his mind.

There would be time for Horcruxes later; right now he had some more living to do.

* * *

**TBC...**

* * *

_**Author Musings**_

_Right then. Two things to pick up on. _

_1) I wanted to make it very clear that Harry, and especially Hermione, would not wish their new relationship to result in a child so early. The prologue, of course, makes it very clear that Hermione is indeed expecting, but I wanted to make it obvious that it was not a planned pregnancy. I'd appreciate your opinions on this matter as I agonised for many a week over this part of the story. _

_2) I promised in the previous chapter that I do not bash characters and I hope that Ron's night of self-reflection demonstrates that. To quote someone I respect and look up to, "This is as much Ron's story as it is Harry and Hermione's". _

_Finally, I would like to thank Katesmom2, who helped bring this story into the world._


	4. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer - **I'm fighting the jet-lag here people, so please feel free to come up with your own humorous way of saying "I don't own Potter" as I can't be bothered right now.  
_

_**A/N's** - Hello everyone. There is a catch up at the bottom of the page if you want to refresh your memories before diving into the latest chapter._

* * *

**'Better Never than Late'**

**by Witherwings**

* * *

**Chapter Three – Deepest Shame**

**26th December 1997**

* * *

The crushing darkness released Ron and he stumbled forwards. Somewhat surprised to feel solid pavement beneath his feet, he quickly righted himself and immediately recognised the achingly familiar shopping street before him as that of Hogsmeade High Street, his crack of apparition echoing loudly off the closely clustered buildings which stood on each side of the main thoroughfare of the magical village.

Pulling his coat around his body to ward off the chill (the highland air several degrees colder than the Cornish beach had been), he peered at the shop fronts in the gloom only to find them all dark and deserted - those that were still trading at least. Ron counted at least a half dozen shop fronts which had been boarded up, and one which looked like it had been completed gutted by fire.

It wasn't exactly raining, but the clouds, which obscured the mountains and castle he knew lay beyond the winding lane to his left, sat so low over the village that his clothing soon showed the evidence of the moisture which hung in the air like a mist.

He hadn't known where the orb might take him when he had stepped into it, but, if he was honest with himself, this had been the last place he had been expecting. Hogwarts was his past, and he didn't see what good he would be able to do there in the present - especially as most, if not all, of the student population were back at home for the duration of the school holidays.

All this happened in the space of just a few seconds, his thoughts abruptly interrupted by a terrifying noise which rent the early morning air; one which was half alarm and half screech. Intuitively understanding that nothing that sounded like that could bode well for him, Ron picked a direction at random and sprinted away as fast as his legs would carry him. An instant later the din of the alarm was silenced, allowing the unmistakable sound of irate voices to reach his ears and he ducked into a side alley, straining his ears to listen, in the hope of learning more about the situation he found himself in.

"There's someone here!"

"Over there," put in a second, far deeper, voice.

"Spread out," ordered a third. "But take whoever it is alive. The Dark Lord doesn't want one of us to kill Potter by accident. He wants that pleasure for himself."

_Death Eaters! _Ron, didn't need to see the owners of the disembodied voices to know that he had stumbled unwittingly into an enemy stronghold. Dealing with the occasional Snatcher had been easy enough during his first separation from Harry and Hermione, but he was not foolhardy enough to believe that he, an lone wizard, stood even the smallest chance in a straight fight against an unknown number of Voldemort's closest supporters.

_I've got to get out of here,_ he thought as there was a collective bark of laughter from the unseen group, followed by the sounds of least a half dozen heavy footfalls heading in his direction. Flattening himself into the shadows afforded him by the wall at his back, Ron tried to force his breaths, which were coming in hard, ragged gasps, to slow, fearing that he would lead his pursuers straight to his hiding place, so unnaturally loud did his breathing sound to his own ears.

"Come out, come out wherever you are," taunted one of the Death Eaters as she passed within a few meters of Ron's hiding place. "There's no escape. We'll find you."

Her disembodied voice became slightly less distinct as its owner moved into another alley on the other side of the street and Ron allowed himself a soft sigh of relief that he had evaded capture long enough to disapparate to safety. Without waiting to see if the Death Eaters would find him to carry out the list of gruesome threats they were shouting into the early morning air, Ron closed his eyes and turned on the spot.

However, the air in which he needed to move had now taken on the consistency of thick treacle and he fell rather inelegantly on his rear.

_I'm trapped! _he realised immediately, recognising the same kind of anti-apparation wards that had been erected around the Burrow during the previous summer when it had been pressed into use as a safe house following the Order's daring mission to rescue Harry from his Aunt and Uncle's home in Surrey.

That deadly development had only a second to sink in before yet another new voice called out in the gloom from a point perhaps one street over. "This is pointless. I say let the Dementor's find whoever it is for us. Give 'em a nice kiss - "

There was a general rumbling of agreement from the Death Eater ranks.

" - an' if it is Potter, the Dark Lord will reward us handsomely. He'll be much easier to kill if he's been kissed first."

"_Shit!_" Even as the curse that would have earned him a smack around the back of the head had Hermione been present to hear it slip from his lips, the unnatural cold which heralded the arrival of the foulest creature's known to wizard kind began to steal over the street. Immediately, Ron knew that his nascent plan to make for Honeyduke's cellar and the passageway hidden therein had just been rendered redundant as the words once spoken by Professor Dumbledore chose that moment to return to him. _'_

_Dementors are vicious creatures. They will not distinguish between the one they hunt and the one who gets in their way_.'

Put simply, the Dementors would not care to confirm his identity one way or the other before performing the Kiss.

A chill ran through his body; a penetrating cold that clutched at his heart and had very little to do with light being sucked out of the environment and everything to do with his very almost overwhelming fear of being left as little more than an empty shell. Eyes wide but unseeing, Ron groped his way along the wall trying to ignore the gloating laughs of the Death Eaters who seemed more than content to allow the Dementors to do their dirty work for them.

Rounding a corner, Ron sank to one knee, his body shivering uncontrollably, a fragment of his mind noting dimly that he was surely being pursued by several of the soulless monsters. All too well did he remember his own experience of a single Dementor on the Hogwarts Express four years ago. Then he had believed he would never again feel true happiness, but it was an experience which paled into comparison with the feeling of hopelessness that now pervaded every fibre of his being leading him to the inevitable conclusion that there were now more. Far more.

He watched in mute horror as at least a dozen Dementors, visible only because they were of a denser darkness than their surroundings, glided into sight at the end of the alley. Recalling his DA training, Ron raised his wand, "_E-Expecto pa-patronum,_" he stuttered through chattering teeth. But try as he might he couldn't seem to latch onto a happy enough memory to conjure his Patronus; instead, Ron felt like he was drowning in a sea of guilt as countless images of the worst of him continually intruded into his thoughts:

_In the forest - his furious best friend standing over him a few short hours ago._

_In the tent - abandoning the two people he loved most in the world._

_In the common room - kissing Lavender Brown, a look of hurt etched onto Hermione's delicate features before she bolted through the portrait hole._

_In the dorm room - shunning Harry after his name emerged from the Goblet of Fire. The green eyed monster that lived within him blinding him to the truth._

_In the corridor after Charms class - a tearful Hermione bumping past him having overheard his hurtful words. ' - she's a nightmare, honestly. She must've noticed she's got no friends - '_

In desperation, Ron thrust his hand deep into his pocket, searching for something, _anything_, that could save him from a fate worse than death, his fingers closing around the only other object on his person - the frosted surface of the Deluminator. Unsure of what good it could possibly do, Ron urged his numb fingers into action. "Come on, come on," he whispered as his frozen digits fumbled with the mechanism, the rattling breaths of the Dementors growing ever closer.

With an audible click, Ron succeeded in his endeavours and the familiar ball of energy appeared before him. Instantly, Ron felt some of the chill leave his bonesas another pearl of wisdom from the lips of Albus Dumbledore appeared unbidden in his mind._.._

_' ... happiness can be found even in the darkest of times, when one only remembers to turn on the light.' _

It certainly didn't fill him with warmth in the manner that Professor Lupin's Patronus had that day on the train, or even of that of his own Jack Russell, but nevertheless the glowing orb provided a welcome respite from the penetrating cold that had threatened to overwhelm him, and he got to his feet once more.

For a moment, the sphere of energy remained still before moving off in the opposite direction to the Dementors. Knowing that dissaparating was still an impossibility, Ron pursued on foot, stumbling every so often over unseen obstacles, the light of the orb mysteriously casting no illumination on it's surroundings at all as if the very presence of the Dementors had shrouded everything in the village in an impenetrable layer of blackness.

After a short pursuit, the blue glow abruptly disappeared, but before Ron could really even register it's absence, he realised that the orb had not simply vanished, but had passed through something; something his nose could attest was rather solid as it made painful contact with ... _whatever it was_. Tracing the outline of the object with his finger tips, he quickly ascertained that it was a door. The pads of his left fingers could detect the rough grain of the wood, whilst his right palm closed around what could only be a door handle, but the hope that briefly swelled in his chest quickly dissipated as he tried the handle and found the door locked.

_Come on, come on_, he thought furiously whilst he hammered on the doorway, caring little for how much noise he might be making, or what might be on the other side of the door, his inner Hermione reasoning that whatever dwelt behind it could be no worse than the frightful creatures he could hear once more closing in from behind.

He had little time to register the grinding of bolts on the other side of the wooden door and so half stumbled and half fell when it was swung open on creaking hinges.

"Get inside, quick," came a muttered voice, forcibly guiding Ron to stand at a point behind the door before drawing a deep breath and shouting, "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

Immediately, the light returned, a large, four legged animal bounding from the strangers wand tip and charging down the line of approaching Dementors, driving them away.

"A Patronus!" bellowed an unseen but fast approaching Death Eater. "Down there, down there."

"Stay here," muttered the stranger and he stepped out into the street beyond, pulling the door shut behind him as he did so.

Ron strained his senses as the sounds of an argument reached his ears a moment later, but muffled as it was behind the closed door, he could only snatch a few words here and there.

_" - Someone was out on the streets - "_

_" - You send bloody Dementors ... I'll send a Patronus back at 'em - "_

_" - you set off the Caterwauling charm?"_

_" - If I want to put my cat out ... Going to cart me off to Azkaban?"_

_" - won't be so lenient next time - "_

Finally the angry exchange came to a close and the stranger returned, allowing Ron a first look at his saviour, his eyes widening in recognition and disbelief in equal parts. "But you're - you're ... "

"A fool for letting a stranger inside my home in such dark times. Now who are you?"

With his last four words the man's voice (who's owner Ron now recognised as the barman of the Hog's Head, banishing his prior notion as to the man's identity) rose to a menacing growl and he stole forward with unnatural speed for a man of such obviously advanced age, shoving the tip of his wand deep into the flesh of Ron's exposed neck. Behind the tangle of beard and murky glasses, his eyes were wide and furious and he pushed Ron back against the far wall, gripping his left shoulder tightly.

Hissing in pain as the barman dug his fingers into his still not completely healed wound resulting from his splinching months earlier, Ron forced his gaze to remain levelled on the eerily familiar, piercing blue eyes. He opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off, his peripheral vision just catching a glimpse of a greyish blur before his legs were enveloped in a bone crushing hug.

"Master Weezy! It is so good to be seeing you again."

For a moment the barman's gaze slipped back and forth between the House-elf and the teen before him. "You know this ... this boy, Dobby?"

Dobby nodded his head earnestly causing his bat like ears to flap vigorously. "Yes Master Dumbledore, sir. Harry Potter's Wheezy is a good and kind wizard, friend to all house-elf's."

"Good enough for me," the man replied gruffly, relaxing his grip on Ron's shoulder and pocketed his wand. "Wait a minute!" he exclaimed an instant later as he registered Dobby's words.

"Did - _you_ - say - _Potter?_ - Dumbledore?" Ron's voice had joined the older wizards as he too latched onto the identity of his saviour, their words crashing over over one another's jarringly, forcing them both to lapse into silence.

The man whom Dobby had referred to as Master Dumbledore was the first to find his voice again the slightly awkward silence which followed, neither wishing to interrupt the other again. "Aberforth Dumbledore, at your service," he said, offering Ron a large, outstretched, hand, which he shook after only the briefest of hesitation. "Let's get you upstairs," he added gesturing towards a staircase set in one corner. "Maybe fix you something to eat."

"Dobby will show Master Weezy the way," squeaked Dobby in response to Ron's nod of agreement.

Not wishing to offend the little elf by pointing out he could probably find his own way, Ron allowed himself to be all but pulled up the narrow staircase, emerging into a small, shabby room, possessing a couple of time-worn couches, a rickety little table with two wobbly looking stools and a small fireplace over which hung a portrait of an attractive, blonde girl.

"Take a seat, boy," said Aberforth, his lumbering footfalls emerging from the stairwell behind Ron before retreating into a room off to one side, presumably a kitchen.

Complying with Dumbledore's instructions, Ron slid into a seat on the couch which faced the fireplace, his eyes falling on an object that he hadn't registered on his first glance around the room. A small mirror, glinting weakly in the dim light filtering in through the grimy window was perched on the mantle, the only object in the room (aside from the portrait) without a trace of dirt or grime on it.

To his side, Ron felt the springs of the ancient sofa sag slightly. Presuming it to be Dobby he turned his head towards the elf with the intention of offering the diminutive creature some assistance climbing onto the too high couch, but ended up performing something of a double take as a movement in the mirror caught his eye.

For an instant, Ron had been certain that the all too familiar face of Phineas Nigellus Black was gazing back at him through the mirror. But, when he refocused his gaze on the mirror, he could find no trace of the dark eyes or pointed beard of the portrait of Sirus Black's Great-great-great-Grandfather, who had been their unwilling companion on the hunt for the Horcruxes, leaving him to wonder whether he had ever seen those features there at all.

"What are you starring at?" asked Aberforth as he reappeared through a little doorway carrying a tray with a loaf of bread, some cheese and a pewter jug.

"Huh?" replied Ron, startled. "Oh, nothing. Nothing at all. I'm just hungry is all," he added as his stomach choose that moment to grumble loudly.

Aberforth set the tray down on the table and Ron ate ravenously; what with his pursuit of Harry and Hermione and his night of self-reflection on the beach, he realised hadn't eaten anything in close to twenty-four hours.

At length, Aberforth spoke. "So you're a friend of Mr Potter, eh?"

Ron's brow puckered at the mention of Harry, but he managed to smooth the frown from his face before answering "Since we were eleven," he conceded, deeming it inappropriate to divulge the details of their falling out to someone who was little more than a stranger to him; albeit one whom he was immensely grateful to. "My name's Ron, Ron Weasley."

Aberforth nodded as he assimilated the information. "Then we'll need to think of a way to get you out of here safely," he said after a moment. "You're not safe if it's known you've been helping Potter." Aberforth was peering out onto the deserted street below as he said this when another though occurred to him, his overgrown eyebrows pinching together in response. "What in the name of Merlin's ghost processed you to come here in the first place anyway? Surely you knew ... or at least suspected that Hogsmeade was guarded?"

For the first time since Ron had arrived in the magical village he recalled how and why he had found himself in the magical settlement. "It's complicated," he began, wiping moisture from his lips as he settled the pewter jug back on the table, "and I don't have all the answers right now, but I have a feeling I'm supposed to do something here. Something important, you know?"

"Didn't my brother teach any common sense at that school of his?" retorted Aberforth as he deposited himself roughly on the other couch, eliciting a groan which could have come from either the elderly wizards joints, the threadbare couch, or both. "There's nothing you can do, boy. You, or anyone else for that matter. He's won, and the sooner you get any notions about doing something heroic out of your head, the longer you'll live."

"But he hasn't won. Not whilst Harry's out there fighting him. Dumbledore ... er ... your brother left us a task," explained Ron, noting the irony that he was now extolling the virtues of the former headmaster's plan, when his own doubts over the very same had led him to first walk out on his best friends. "We're searching for - "

"Yes, yes," retorted Aberforth shortly. "I know all about my brother's harebrained scheme, and trust me, it's a ruddy suicide mission."

Ron suppressed a grim laugh. "It's not easy, no. But it's the best chance we've got at beating him. Your brother knew that."

A dangerous look passed across the elder man's features, and, even in the weak light, Ron could see the pain in his eyes. "People have a tendency of getting hurt carrying out my brother's grand plans, Mr Weasley - " His eyes quickly flashed to the portrait still smiling serenely. "Hurt or dead. Try and make sure you are not the latter."

Ron's could see that he was being manoeuvred by the elderly wizard, and elected to go on the offensive instead. "Wait a minute. You knew about what we were doing? But you never helped us?"

"I kept an eye on you when I could," replied Aberforth cryptically, before turning the tables once more.. "Besides," he said levelling an accusatory finger at Ron's chest. "I don't see you doing anything to help him right now."

"We got ... _separated_." Ron's voice was low, his eyes sliding to the floor as he uttered, if not an outright lie, but at the very least, a lie of omission.

"A blessing if you ask me," replied Aberforth, either not noticing, or caring for Ron's obvious discomfort. "Learn when to give up, boy."

"No!" Ron was surprised by the vehemence of his own voice. "You might have given up, but I - "

"Pardon me, Master Weezy." Dobby's high pitched voice cut across Ron's and he looked around, slightly startled. He had almost forgotten the elf was in the room. _But then, _he mused_, that was their way_ - always present, rarely seen. "But Master Dumbledore has not given up. Master is helping both the Order and Dumbledore's Army fight against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

For an instant, Ron feared Aberforth would punish Dobby for speaking out of turn, so severe was his scowl, and he gripped his wand tightly in case he needed to defend the creature he had come to think of as a friend. However, and just as quickly, Aberforth's beard twitched into a grin, which was followed by a bark of laugher which sounded unnatural loud, confined as it was, to the small space. "I knew there was a reason I liked you, elf," he boomed. "Can't hide nothing from you."

Dobby looked unsure whether he should be punishing himself or flattered. Fearing the former, Ron quickly directed the conversation back on track. "So you're in contact with the students in the castle then?" he asked.

"I'm more than in contact with them," replied Aberforth. He turned his head towards the portrait over the fireplace, offering the image of the young girl a subtle nod. "You know what to do."

At these words, the blonde nodded and turned in her frame, walking, not as was normal for a portrait, out of her frame to the side, but along what seemed to be a long tunnel painted behind her instead, the image of her retreating back growing smaller and smaller with every passing second.

"Where's she going?"

"You'll see," replied Aberforh with a grunt as he pushed himself up from his chair. "If you want to join Shire and his resistance, then I won't stand in you way. Just don't expect me to mourn you when you get yourself killed trying to play the hero up there when Snape's up there with the Carrow's as his deputies."

_Shire? Resistance?_ Ron opened his mouth to question both points when he noted that Aberforth had left the room. Rearranging his still partly open lips to call for the older man, Ron was drawn up short for a second time when he spotted that a tiny white dot had appeared at the end of the painted tunnel. The girl in the portrait was returning - and she seemed to have someone with her.

Taking a step closer to the frame, Ron squinted at the still indistinct figures, as if, in that one movement he could pull them closer to him and discern the identity of the blonde's companion. The figure behind the girl, whom Ron presumed to be considerably taller owing to the manner in which he walked with head bowed to avoid striking it on the low roof of the tunnel, had long, unkempt, hair and an unshaven face, the evidence of several recently healed wounds on his skin.

Dumbfounded, Ron uttered a single word aloud, "Neville?" One which Neville could either hear, or else read on Ron's lips, his face breaking into a wide grin as he nodded and waved as he and the young girl grew ever closer until their upper torsos completely filled the frame. Then, just as Ron felt sure they would both burst through the very fabric of the canvas the whole thing swung forward on heretofore unknown hinges revealing a real tunnel behind, the real Neville Longbottom jumping down, a look of pure joy etched onto his now slender features.

"Ron!" he exclaimed, pulling his old dorm mate into a tight hug. "It's so good to see you."

"It's good to see you too, Neville," replied Ron, returning the hug somewhat awkwardly. He couldn't ever recall his formerly round-faced friend ever embracing him before. "What happened to you?" he added as Neville released him and stepped back a stride. "You look like - "

" - hell I reckon," interrupted Neville, correctly guessing Ron's intended choice of word. "It looks worse than it is," he quipped, waving away Ron's concerns.

"Wait," said Ron. "You're Shire?"

Neville chuckled. "Yeah, a little codename Dean gave me last summer and it's stuck. Something to do with a Muggle author and my family name, I never really got to the bottom of it … but never mind that," he added, glancing around the room hopefully. "Where's Harry? Where's Hermione?"

For the second time in the space of just a few short minutes Ron found himself unable to hold his gaze level and instead found himself studying the shoelaces of his trainers intently. "We - we got separated," he said, repeating his earlier turn of phrase rather lamely.

For a long moment, Neville said nothing, and when Ron could stand the uncomfortable silence no longer, he chanced a glance at the face of his friend of the last six-and-a-half years. The wide smile which had adorned his features had faded, replaced by a look which Ron read as sadness, Neville's dark brown eyes revealing to him that he did not believe Ron's lie. However, to Ron's eternal gratitude, Neville choose not to pursue the matter further. "Come on then," he said, his smile returning as quickly as it had vanished as he ushered Ron towards the mantle. "Let's get you back up to the castle, we could do with an extra wand," he finished kindly.

"Thanks, Neville," said Ron, accepting Neville's wordless offer of a boost into the chest height hole before turning around within the mouth of the tunnel to return the favour.

"You can tell me everything on the way. People have been saying that you were just on the run, but I don't believe them. You've been up to something."

"You're right," replied Ron, breaking into his first genuine smile of the day, and, as they made their way up the smooth stone steps in the flickering light of dozens of brass oil lamps, Ron began to explain.

* * *

**TBC...**

* * *

**Author Musings** - So we have stayed with Ron in this chapter continuing my promise that this is as much Ron's story as it is Harry and Hermione's. I know this re-treads canon (albeit some months earlier) but there will be some overlap until the events of this story really start to have an effect of the timeline (i.e after the prologue where Voldemort rises once more). As such, we shall be jumping back to May 1998 for the next instalment to avoid the tedium of five months worth of Horcrux hunting that will differ only marginally from the books. Anything else of note which occurred during Ron's exile will be covered in flashback form but I have no plans to have complete chapters (like these last few) set entirely in the past.

Oh, I also wanted to say how much I enjoyed getting to write a small portion of Dobby's interactions with Aberforth in to this chapter - I hope you did too.

ps - The chapter title is a nod to a fantastic tune by Plan B of the same name. Check it out, the dude is just hyper-talented!


	5. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer - **There are only so many ways to say "I don't own Potter" in the English language, so I have instead switched to Spanish: **No hago propia Potter.**_

_**A/N's** - Although it has been a relatively quick turnaround to get Ch.4 out into the world, I've still included a catch up at the bottom of the page if you want to refresh your memories before diving into this. Ps - remember to keep a close eye on the dates. LOTS of jumping around in this story. _

* * *

**'Better Never than Late'**

**by Witherwings**

* * *

**Chapter Four - Aftermath**

**4th May 1998**

* * *

_Hermione was falling._

_Falling in an endless sea of darkness._

_Hurtling towards an impact which never came._

_An indeterminate amount of time later a light flashed far overhead and she became aware that, not only she falling, but spinning too, as the light immediately became engulfed by shadow again. The two states followed one another quicker than she could follow as she tumbled over and over again during her ceaseless fall. _

_Light. Shadow. Light. Shadow. Light. Shadow. Like the metronomic rhythm of a clock. Every moment of her life visible in the all too brief flashes of light._

_In Ollivander's store - a surge of warmth rushing through her whole body as she grasped the handle of her wand for the first time. 'It's really happening,' she says. 'Yes,' her father answers, a strong hand on her shoulder. 'It is...'_

_On the Hogwarts express - a pair of piercing green eyes meet her own. 'Has anyone seen a toad?' she asks..._

_In the hospital wing - petrified, but aware of Harry's almost constant presence at her side. 'Get some rest Mr Potter. She doesn't even know you're here...'_

_On Buckbeak's back - her eyes squeezed shut and her arms wrapped around Harry's chest as they raced to save Sirius..._

_In potions class - 'I can smell spearmint toothpaste, freshly mown grass, new parchment and - ' Fleetwood's High-Finish Handle Polish she added silently, unable to voice the one scent she so associated with Harry..._

_In Harry's arms - the miracle of the child they had created already quickening within her following their escape from Malfoy Manor..._

_In the Great Hall - Voldemort's shadow rising once more, rushing towards her, the shriek of his laughter filling every fibre of her being as his essence passed straight through her stomach..._

* * *

"NOOOOOOOO!" As if propelled by a firework Hermione sat bolt upright, her brown eyes wide, terrified and filled with tears. Madame Pomfrey, who had been examining her patients pupillary reflex with the illuminated tip of her wand, was sent pinwheeling backwards in surprise as Hermione's anguished cry rent the air.

"_Harry?_" The single word, spoken in the manner that a person dying of thirst would ask for water, issued past the great gulp of air her lungs instinctively pulled down as consciousness abruptly re-inhabited every cell of her body. She didn't know where she was, or how she had gotten there, but somehow she knew that Harry would be there with her.

She was right.

"_Hermione!_" He was by her side in an instant, his exclamation accompanied by the scraping of wood on tile as he pushed himself up from the chair set beside her bed in a room she now recognised as the school's infirmary. His eyes were shadowed by dark circles and his clothing dishevelled and creased, suggesting he had been wearing them for several days - presumably keeping vigil at her bedside. _How long have I been here_? she wondered silently as Harry pulled her into his arms. "It's okay, it's okay," he whispered soothingly. "I'm here now, you're safe."

Hermione's eyes glistened with tears as she returned the embrace with a single arm, her other slipping instinctively to her stomach. She had no definitive memory of how she came to lie in a hospital bed, however _something_ - maternal instinct perhaps - filled her with a chill of dread as her hand brushed her still flat stomach. Breaking apart after all to brief a moment, she regarded Harry with beseeching eyes. "The baby?" she mouthed. It was a question she could not bear to voice aloud, yet simultaneously, one to which she desperately needed an answer.

Harry pulled back from her so as to meet her eyes, each of her hands ensconced in his, a warm smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "She's fine, Hermione. She's going to be just fine."

"Thank God," she murmured, relief flooding through her veins. She sank back onto her elbows and released a breath she had been unaware of holding, the sense of foreboding she had awoken to fading into the ether as quickly as the disturbing images that had dominated her dreams, a vague sense of unease replacing those visions as their details slipped away from her like the grains of sand through an hourglass. Only then, as the knot of anxiety in her stomach began to dissipate with the knowledge that their unborn child was safe, did a fragment of her mind alert her to Harry's choice of pronoun when describing their child's condition.

"Wait a minute!" she exclaimed, shoving her palms deep into the soft mattress and arresting her return to a fully reclined position. "You said _she!_"

Harry's features took on a look of commingled surprise and shock as he mentally replayed his verbal slip. "Yes," he conceded, his expression morphing into a wide grin, "I did, didn't I? It's a girl, Hermione. We're going to have a daughter."

Hermione blinked stupidly. Her mind felt slow and sluggish as if it had been filled with candy floss. "A - A daughter?" she stammered.

"A daughter," repeated Harry, his love and amusement evident in his tone in equal measure.

The change was instantaneous. Hermione let out an uncharacteristic squeak of excitement and promptly pulled Harry into a bone crushing hug. "A girl? Oh Harry! But how can you know? Isn't it too early? I mean I'm only in my first trimester and I've read that determining gender isn't very accurate until the twentieth week. Not that I'm not happy with a girl, but I would have been just as happy with a boy..." All of this was said very fast, the cascade of words only brought to a halt by the no nonsense voice of the school's nurse, whom, Hermione now noted, had returned unnoticed to her bedside and was running her wand back and forth over her back - presumably for the purposes of some sort of medical scan.

"Just into your second trimester actually, Miss Granger," she corrected gruffly. Hermione tore her eyes away from Harry's and tried to catch Madame Pomfrey's eye without success, the mediwitch's drawn features studying the ticker tape of parchment issuing from her wand tip intently. "According to my scans you are fourteen weeks pregnant, due sometime towards the end of October - All Hallows' Eve perhaps."

"You're kidding?" Harry's tone was caught somewhere between exasperated and amused. "What is it with me and Halloween?" he wondered aloud.

Hermione offered him a faint, reassuring smile, which he returned, accompanied with a gentle squeeze of her hand. She could only imagine how bitter-sweet a moment it would be for him should the birth of his first child prove to coincide with the anniversary of the death of his parents.

"And yes," continued Pomfrey, interrupting the short, contemplative silence that followed. "Muggle medical equipment is generally only reliable on such matters towards the end of the second trimester, but I can assure you, I am quite certain that you are to have a daughter ... I can show you her if you'd like?"

A flight of butterflies formed in Hermione's stomach. The opportunity to lay her eyes on her daughter for the first time driving all other thoughts aside - for the time being at least. She was familiar enough with magical medical care to know that a charm existed that performed much the same function to that of a muggle ultrasound, however, something deep within made her hesitate from agreeing immediately. Intellectually of course, she knew that a new life was growing inside her, but, the act of seeing her unborn daughter for the first time would make that abstract concept very real. Very real indeed_. _Perhaps, a little too real._ Am I ready __for this?_

She swallowed hard and glanced at Harry, who, perhaps recognising her conflicted emotional state, gently perched himself on the edge of bed next to her, his thumb tracing aimless patterns on her hand. Hermione followed as his gaze slipped to her abdomen before slowly returning to meet her eyes, a silent understanding passing between them as green eyes met brown.

"I think we'd like to see our daughter now, Madame Pomfrey," said Harry a moment later, putting words to their unspoken agreement.

"Very well," agreed the nurse curtly. "Please lay down and unbutton your top, Miss Granger," she concluded, already turning to collect the items she would require to perform the scan.

Complying with the mediwitch's instructions, a slight frown creased Hermione's features as she attempted to identify the undertone in Madame Pomfrey's voice. _Concern?_ Certainly, but it was not that which drew Hermione's attention – Madame Pomfrey was well regarded amongst the students for being uncommonly dedicated to her patients, albeit rather brisk in her bedside manner. _Disappointment?_ Perhaps, but she was certain that whatever it was she was detecting went far deeper than that. Before she could decided one way or another, the school's nurse returned, her wand at the ready. Eager to begin, Hermione filed the thought away for later consideration.

"You might feel a slight tingle," advised Pomfrey, and she began making slow sweeping movements up and down Hermione's abdomen with her wand, much like the movement of the lamp inside in a muggle photocopier.

Peering over her chest, Hermione looked on in intellectual curiosity and nervous anticipation in equal measures. After a few passes, the shaft of the nurse's wand glowed gold and projected an image of Hermione's womb perhaps ten inches above her stomach. To her side, she felt Harry squeeze her hand supportively as, grainy and indistinct at first, the image gained greater and greater clarity with each sweep, until finally, Hermione was gazing at the face of her unborn daughter through tear clogged lashes.

For a long time Hermione drank in the sight of her, unable to so much as turn her head away from the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. "She's - she's perfect, Harry," she said thickly, her voice clogged with emotion as their future as a family appeared in her minds eye. She could picture herself holding her daughter for the first time, hearing her first words, helping her take her first faltering steps, and tearfully seeing her off on her very first day of school. She knew too (although she could not say how) that their child was magical, and could see with crystal clarity, the day she would finally receive her invitation to Hogwarts, purchasing her wand at Ollivander's, and watching with pride as her daughter waved from one of the open windows of the Hogwarts Express as she set off on her own great adventure.

She couldn't wait for their life together to start, yet, conversely, she could have just as happily stayed in that one moment forever, simply staring at her tiny daughter's innocent face.

Distantly, as if heard through ears filled with cotton wool, Hermione became aware that Madame Pomfrey was speaking and she reluctantly tore her attention away from the image.

" - a beautiful, healthy baby girl," she was saying. "But I think that's more than enough for today, Miss Granger," she added, the image winking out of existence in response to a flick of her wrist. "You've been through quite an ordeal."

Blinking herself back to reality, Hermione managed to utter her thanks through wooden lips.

"You are welcome, dear," replied the matron with a trace of her more usual bedside manner evident in her tone. "You can stay for another five minutes, Mr Potter," she added firmly, turning to Harry. "But then I want Miss Granger to get some rest."

Before either Harry or Hermione had a chance to acknowledge the order, the matron had bustled away into her office, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

It was then, in the palpable silence that filled the room now they were alone, that Hermione realised that Harry had not uttered so much as a single syllable since the school nurse had initiated the scan. She turned to face him, her brow pinching together in worry as she recognised the pensive, almost melancholy, expression adorning his face, his eyes still staring blankly at the spot above her abdomen where their daughter's image had been displayed.

"Harry?" she ventured, a degree of trepidation evident in her tone. "Is everything okay?"

"Huh?" Realising he had been lost in his own thoughts, and had therefore likely been silent too long, Harry shook himself out of the trace like state he had fallen into and turned towards his girlfriend, arranging his features into what he hoped was a passable attempt at a sincere smile. "Yeah. Everything's great, Hermione," he assured her, hoping she would fail to notice that he had been unable to meet her gaze as he spoke the lie he felt she needed to hear. "She's perfect."

Hermione's frown deepened as she noted with concern that Harry's warm smile failed to completely reach his eyes. He was brooding about something, she was sure of that, and, she had a horrible feeling she knew exactly what that was. "Please, Harry," she said. "Just tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing." His reply was automatic, the single word spilling from his lips almost before Hermione had finished her previous sentence.

"Don't lie to me, Harry Potter," she retorted, trying and failing to keep a lid on her rising ire, her emotions always that much closer to the surface in recent weeks – it one one of the clues that had alerted her to her pregnancy in fact. "I know there's something you're not telling me and I want to know what it is." _Do you not want this baby?_ she added silently

The silence that followed lasted no more than a matter of seconds, but for Hermione, time seemed to stretch towards infinity as she was tormented by the words she had feared since she first telling Harry about their impending new arrival_: I never wanted this, Hermione. _The Harry in her mind spoke, not with his own voice, but with that of the Riddle-Harry from the locket. _Trapped by a child I never asked for. Forever consigned to a life of mediocrity, when I could have been great. _

Hermione didn't want to believe that the real Harry could ever feel that way, but the lengthening silence between them and his apparent inability to look her in the eye did little to convince her otherwise. "Damn it, Harry," she swore, breaking both the uncomfortable silence in the room, and the taunting manifestations of her own inner demons. "Look at me!"

Whether in response to her demand, or in surprise at hearing a curse issue from Hermione Granger's mouth, Harry's gaze did snap up, a look Hermione could only describe as haunted evident in his emerald eyes, confirming her worst fears.

"If you don't want this baby I think I have a right to know," she said, her eyes widening in horror as she realised that, in her anger, she had voiced those deepest fears aloud. Her hands flew to her mouth in a futile attempt to return the words to whence they had come, but the damage was done.

Immediately Harry's gaze hardened, his bright green eyes flashing angrily, and in that moment Hermione realised just how wrong she had been.

"Of course I want her, Hermione!" he bit back, his angry retort accompanied by the creaking of bed springs and the clatter of wood on tile as he sprang to his feet and lashed out at the chair with his right foot sending it toppling backwards to the floor. "It's what I've wanted my whole life." _A proper family,_ he added silently.

Mentally chastising herself for allowing her anxieties to rule her head, Hermione schooled her voice so as not to betray her warring emotions once more. "Then talk to me, please."

Harry sighed and ran a hand through the back of his hair leaving it standing on end. He had been hoping to postpone this conversation until Hermione was stronger, but, as always, she had been able to see straight through him. He certainly didn't want to leave her under the false impression that he somehow resented the prospect of becoming a father.

"How much do you remember?" he asked, making his way over to one of the tall windows which looked out over the school grounds.

"I - " Hermione faltered. Not in response to Harry's apparent non-sequitur, but, as she realised that her recollections of events that transpired prior to her hospitalisation were still clouded by what she could only latterly describe as some sort of mental fog. She furrowed her brow as she attempted to force back the darkness which still clung to the edges of her consciousness, but without success. "Not very much," she admitted, the snatches of memory she could recall too fragmented and hazy to be of any use.

"Then I think you need to see this," replied Harry, his back still facing her, one hand clutching the vertical frame of the window as if it, or he, might fall without the support the other offered.

Hermione's gaze slipped past him to the grounds outside. From her still partially reclined position, her line of sight permitted her a view of only the tops of the trees in the forbidden forest, and the leaden, overcast sky overhead. Gingerly, she pushed her bedding aside and slipped her feet out of bed and onto the floor, a sharp intake of breath hissing past her teeth as she flinched the moment her toes made contact with the cold stone. "What is it I don't I remember, Harry?" she prompted, padding towards him on tip-toes when it became clear that he was not going to volunteer anything further on his own.

The first giant drops of rain which heralded an approaching storm began to pepper the tall window as she drew level with her boyfriend. Squinting through the distortion they caused she gained her first proper look at the grounds since awakening, a gasp escaping her lips as her eyes settled on the scene of devastation.

The usually smooth lawns of the castle's grounds were pitted, cratered and charred. Huge piles of rubble and masonry littered everywhere in sight. There was even a whole section of what looked like astronomy tower protruding above the water line of the rain speckled surface of the great lake.

_The battle! _

"I - I remember," she said, the jumble of images in her mind finally settling into some sort of coherent order. "I can remember Gringott's, Ron getting us into the school, and coming back up to the castle after Nagini killed Snape." She spoke slowly in an obvious effort not to get too far ahead of her returning memories. "I re-remember Voldemort calling you out, and - " Hermione's voice became very small as she recalled the rising wave of panic she had endured for close to an hour after Harry had disappeared. " - and I feared the worst when I saw Hagrid carrying you. But then you came back to us ... back to me, and you finished him off once and for ... "

Hermione gasped again, as her remaining memories, which until that point had been returning to her like a dripping faucet, suddenly flooded her consciousness. "Voldemort!" she exclaimed. "I thought I saw - "

"You did," interrupted Harry, intuitively understanding that she was recalling the mist like apparition Voldemort had become. He pushed himself fully upright and took her urgently by the shoulders. "We all did," he added, his tone clipped, although not unkind. "He - he came back, Hermione. He - he didn't die."

Hermione felt like her heart had been plunged into a bucket of ice water. She screwed her eyes shut as if it that one action she could deny the truth, but knew it to be futile - she had seen his shadow rise again with her own eyes, heard his taunting laugher, watched in horror as the essence of his evil passed through her torso.

Her eyes widened in terror as her last memory before awakening in the hospital wing returned. "The baby! Do you think he knows about the baby?"

Harry made a rather non-committal sound. "I - I don't know," he admitted. "But either way, we're not going to be able to keep it a secret for long, and then she'll - "

" - and then she'll be a target," Hermione concluded, eliciting a small, sad nod of agreement from her boyfriend. She now understood the motivation behind Harry's earlier melancholy; he did want their baby - desperately if his reaction to her accusation was anything to go by. However, the concerns he had voiced to her regarding raising a child in such a dark world after their first night together were just as valid, if not more so, now. How could they care for a newborn whilst fighting for their lives?

Pulling her from her thoughts, Hermione noted that Harry had released his hold on her arms and had turned his gaze towards some unseen point on ever darkening horizon - the rain outside now falling steadily. "He's never going to leave us alone is he?"

Words were insufficient, so Hermione simply wound her arm around Harry's waist and moulded herself to his side, her unseeing eyes gazing out above tree line. During the contemplative silence that followed, Hermione's subconscious alerted her to the fact that the castle was uncharacteristically silent; the absence of the near omnipresent background noise created by the several hundred students and teachers who lived, worked and played in the hallowed halls of the school seemed to rob it of much of the vitality, life and _magic_ she so associated with the halls of the ancient structure.

At length she asked, "Harry? Where is everyone? I know I wasn't the only one injured in the battle." Her voice faltered as the images of wounded friends, classmates and teachers alike filtered across her mind unbidden. "Just how long have I been unconscious?"

"Two days." Harry's reply sounded oddly detached. "Madame Pomfrey wanted to send you to St Mungo's but I persuaded her to let you stay here. I – I didn't want the baby to become common knowledge yet."

Hermione nodded and gave her boyfriend's waist a squeeze to convey her silent thanks. Right now, the fewer people who knew about their impending new arrival, the better.

"Of course some of the teachers are still here trying to make the castle safe," continued Harry. "And anyone who escaped the fighting relatively unscathed went back to their families yesterday."

Hermione nodded again, but this time it was more in response to what Harry had _not_ said than what he had. "How many, Harry?" she asked, sensing that Harry needed someone to talk to, and knowing that he would understand to what she referred.

"Fifty eight," he replied in a small, far away voice, barely louder than the torrential rain now pounding against the window pane. "Madame Pomfrey did what she could, but..." his voiced trailed away to nothing, his eyes welling with tears as the fragile emotional dam he had been trying to preserve collapsed.

Not knowing what else to do, Hermione pulled him into her arms. She was gratified that he did not resist the action, and she held him close until the shuddering tears of anguish and guilt were spent. Soft, instantly forgettable words of comfort slipped past her lips, but, internally, Hermione was reeling. They had done everything Dumbledore had asked of them and more. They had destroyed Voldemort's Horcruxes and defeated his army in battle - in doing so, nearly sixty souls paying the ultimate price. Yet somehow, the Dark Lord had evaded death once more. "But how?" she asked several minutes later, voicing the two words that rang out loudest against the myriad of other questions vying for attention in her overcrowded mind.

Harry did not answer straight away as he tried to master his runaway emotions. When he did, his voice certainly sounded more composed, but equally so..._defeated_. It was a change that scared Hermione more than the prospected of a continued threat from Lord Voldemort. "We don't know," he admitted, releasing himself from their embrace and turning towards the window once more. "Maybe he had other Horcruxes," he continued pinching the bridge of his nose whilst his shoulders moved up and down in a steady rhythm that reflected his efforts to calm his breathing. "Or maybe something that evil can't ever truly die - I don't know. What I do know is this: Voldemort won't rest until he kills me. Just as soon as he can return himself to physical form again he's going to come after me ... "

"But last time that took him fourteen years, Harry," interrupted Hermione soothingly, her palm moving in gentle circles over the tight muscles in his back. "That at least will give us time to prepare."

"No." Harry's response was quite vehement, the forcefulness of his words shocking Hermione into taking a half step backwards. Closing his eyes, Harry forced himself to take several cleansing breaths before continuing. "I'm sorry," he muttered far more quietly. "But this is different, Hermione. No one knew what fate had befallen him when he attacked my family. I was too young to remember much of anything, and Voldemort, well he was too weak to summon those of his supporters who retained their liberty after his downfall.

"But this time...this time there were several hundred witnesses to see his spirit ... or whatever the hell he is now, rise again. A fair few of his supporters amongst them."

"But they're in Azkaban now surely?"

Harry shook his head, a single, slow, movement from side to side. "In the confusion ... several of them escaped."

Hermione worried at her lower lip, unable to think of anything to say in response to such a disturbing revelation. "Did Dumbledore ever mention anything about any other insurance policies Voldemort might have pursued?" she asked at length, electing instead to circle back to something Harry had mentioned earlier. "Other methods of gaining immortality? Another Horcrux perhaps?"

"No," said Harry with such finality that Hermione thought he would say no more, before he unexpectedly continued. "Dumbledore thought Voldemort had made six. He told me that the snake was the last one. He told me that if we killed it, he would be mortal again."

Hermione felt her brow arch towards the ceiling. This was new, and puzzling information. Dumbledore had been dead for almost a year now, so how had he been able to impart this new information? And she was certain this _was_ new - Harry had made it very clear, the night that Ron had first abandoned them, that he had told them both everything that Dumbledore had ever told him regarding their quest, and yet she was sure Harry had never mentioned this before. _So how is it possible?_ Had Harry found something Dumbledore had left behind during their hour long separation during the battle? Had he overheard something whilst they searched the castle for clues to the whereabouts of Ravenclaw's Diadem?

However, before she could enquire aloud, the door to Madame Pomfrey's office swung open once more, admitting the stern faced witch into the infirmary.

"I thought I had made myself abundantly clear, Mr Potter?" she said, her often strict demeanour devolving towards something which bordered upon animosity. "Miss Granger was not to exert herself, and you were to leave her in peace to get some rest."

"I'm fine Madame Pomfrey," interjected Hermione, resisting the urge to reply in kind. "The baby too. I really just want to talk to Harry alone please."

The mediwitch made a clucking noise with her tongue. "I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but I really must insist."

_Disapproval_. The single word floated to the surface of Hermione's mind in response to her earlier question as her mind revisited the matron's out of character behaviour. She had no proof, other than her own observations, but Hermione felt certain she had hit upon what had been troubling her regarding the matrons attitude towards her, and more especially Harry whom she could sense tensing slightly at her side in an effort to maintain his composure.

A flash of lightning threw the darkened room into a stark contrast for an instant, illuminating each of their drawn and weary faces as a clap of thunder followed swiftly on its heels, the sounds of the electric storm joining the cacophony of noise being made by the rain hammering against the windows of the infirmary.

Electing not to ignore the elephant in the room, Hermione voiced the question posed by her inner voice aloud. "Do we have a problem here?"

Madame Pomfrey did not answer immediately, first feigning the need to straighten her uniform whilst she considered the question. She did not mind admitting that when, upon her admission to her care, that Harry had informed her of Hermione's condition she had been shocked - not the teenagers had embarked on a relationship (that Miss Granger and Mr Potter would finally recognise the depths of their feelings for one another was obvious to anyone in possession of a pair of eyes), but for either of them to even consider bringing a child into the world when neither were much more than children themselves struck her as the height of irresponsibility - especially in light of how uncertain that world had now become.

"It's not my place to say," she said at length, trying to inject a degree of professional decorum.

Hermione felt her already battered spirits take a nosedive towards forlorn, some of her sense of isolation obviously evident of her face as she felt one of Harry's strong arms wind around her waist in a gesture of both physical and emotional support.

"I don't know how I became pregnant, Madame Pomfrey," began Hermione. She was unsure of where the motivation stemmed from, but nevertheless Hermione felt compelled to try and explain the miracle of the child she now carried within, regardless of the fact that, as two consenting adults, she had no reason to defend their actions to anyone. "I brewed the contraceptive potion myself and took it religiously everyday." Involuntarily, her hand was on her stomach, directly over the spot she knew her daughter grew within her. "She's – she's a miracle," she concluded directing a faint smile towards the ground as Harry's hand covered hers following her proclamation.

Madame Pomfrey regarded the two young lovers in silence for several seconds, her mind already riffling through the vast repository of medical knowledge she had acquired in over three decades of experience for an answer to the question of how a subject could fall pregnant whilst taking the contraceptive potion – her wealth of experience offering just one. "And you're sure you brewed the potion correctly?" she asked, but it was Harry and not Hermione who answered:

"Positive," he said. "Hermione's brilliant."

The school nurse pursed her lips in agreement. By all accounts, Hermione Granger was one of the elite – possibly the best witch Hogwarts had produced in a generation. And, if even half of what she had heard regarding their adventures at the school proved to be true, the young Miss Granger could certainly be trusted to brew a simple contraceptive potion correctly.

"Well then I'm stumped," she declared, extracting her wand once more. "Magical contraception is similar to muggle methods in that it suppresses ovulation. However, where muggles rely on altering hormones levels to achieve that feat, the contraceptive potion magically binds the subjects ability to release an egg - at least for as long as the person takes the potion.

"See, look here," she added after a moments silence studying the results of the latest medical scan. "Now that I know to look for it, I can still detect trace amounts of the potion in your body. With these sorts of levels I would guess that you only stopped taking the potion about six weeks ago."

"I stopped taking it when I realised I was pregnant," agreed Hermione studying the thin strip of paper the nurse had handed her.

The mediwitch fell into a pensive silence. "It shouldn't be possible," she muttered softly. "Unless - " she added, drawing the single word out over several moments as a new line of reasoning presented itself to her. " - your body suffered some sort of magical trauma to nullify the effects of the potion."

Harry and Hermione exchanged a dark and significant look.

"I - I was tortured," admitted Hermione after some sort of silent agreement had passed between the two that she should be the one to tell the story. "Bellatrix Lestrange used the Cruciatus Curse on me..."

* * *

_**7th February 1998**_

* * *

_"CRUCIO!"_

_Pain._

_Excruciating, insufferable pain, reverberated through every cell in Hermione Granger's body, her pleas for mercy growing in both volume and hysteria until finally the individual words were completely lost amidst a scream of terror. Her muscles spasmed as the pain reached its crescendo, her back arching involuntarily as even her anguished cries fell silent as she prayed for the end to come._

_Moments later her wish was granted and she immediately wished it hadn't been. The after affects of were almost as bad as the torture curse itself; every fibre of her being felt like it was ablaze, yet, conversely, her teeth chattered as if she had been plunged into a bucket of ice water. _

_Unable to curl herself into the foetal position owing to the too near presence of her tormentor, Bellatrix Lestrange, who prowled over her prone form like a predator deciding where to strike, Hermione instead found herself staring with at the manner in which the light played across the ceiling, the weak rays of the sun refracting from the crystal chandelier high overhead._

_"Did that hurt my sweet?" The whispered voice of Bellatrix Lestrange made Hermione's skin crawl, but she forced herself to remain silent. She knew from first-hand experience that any response she might make would only anger the demented Death Eater further. "You don't want me to do that again, do you?" Her tone remained soft, her voice issuing forth like the weakest of spring zephyrs, which, if it were possible, made her sound even more deranged, and correspondingly, far more dangerous._

_Hermione suppressed a shudder of fear commingled with revulsion as Bellatrix lowered herself so close her face that she could count everyone of the former azkaban inmate's rotten and yellowing teeth. "Tell me where you found the sword and this will all be over," she continued, punctuating her point by running one overgrown nail along Hermione's cheek._

_Hermione shook her head, the motion dislodging a single tear which ran along her cheek bone, her refusal to speak resulting in an immediate and terrifying change in Cicatrix's demeanour. _

_"You filthy mudblood! CRUCIO!"_

_Despite herself, another scream of agony tore past Hermione's lips as the blinding pain returned._

_"That sword was supposed to be locked in my vault at Gringott's. How did you and your little friends steal it?"_

_"P - please, I didn't - I didn't steal anything," sobbed Hermione. "Please. I don't know anything." Her protests trailed away as her vision began to grey, her awareness shrinking to just one small point fixed on the still dancing lights high over head. _

_"LIES!" bellowed Bellatrix. _

_Hermione felt her body twitch and writhe as Bellatrix increased the spells intensity, but it was almost as if it were happening to someone else, the pain receding to a far corner of her mind as shadow engulfed her. Surrendering to the blessed relief of unconsciousness, Hermione's last awareness before blacking out was that of Bellatrix's taunting laughter and the memory of the glittering light of the crystals dancing in her now closed eyes._

* * *

Unable to continue her harrowing tale (there were some parts of it she could never tell anyone – not even Harry), Hermione lapsed into silence and buried her head into her boyfriends chest. Their roles now reversed, Harry used one hand to pull her close to his body, the other tangling into her hair.

"This is why I'm so scared, Hermione," he whispered into her ear. "They don't care who they hurt to get to me. I couldn't bear it if I lost you or ... " his final words remained unspoken but his sentiment was as clear as if he had spoken it aloud.

Madame Pomfrey, who, until now, had been looking on in silence, found her voice. "But how ever did you escape?" she asked, her voice carrying with it all of her warring emotions: Concern for her patients physical and mental well-being. Horror at the depths those they fought against would stoop to, and admiration for the young couple who had somehow managed to remain strong and support one another despite experiencing more pain, suffering and loss than any one person should have the misfortune of experiencing in a whole lifetime.

"I'm still not sure I really know the answer to that myself." Harry's reply came on the heels of the subtlest of nods from his girlfriend – an obvious invitation to continue the tale. "I know I couldn't have done it alone..."

* * *

**TBC...**

* * *

_**Author Musings** - This chapter went through several iterations to get the tone right, but the end result is (I think) quite good. I would love to hear your thoughts of course - it's easy to become blind to your own faults when you've read and re-read a chapter so many times. My thanks at this point to Katesmom2 and Harmony Lover. They must have read this chapter almost as many times as I have. Thanks girls. You're the best! _

_One of the skills I am trying to practise at the moment is the ability to switch smoothly from one characters perspective to another's in the space of a single chapter. It is not something I have attempted often, and as such, I would also like your input on that front. Constructive criticism always welcome, but try to flame me and ... well frankly there's not a damn thing I can do about it, so go ahead ;) _

_Anyway, the chapter... I mentioned a couple of chapters ago that I didn't want H/Hr to just jump into bed and wind up pregnant (they're too smart for that IMO) so this is my attempt to explain how the child came about. I hope it was plausible and made sense. _

_For anyone who is interested (or hasn't seen it already), the flashback to Malfoy Manor also spawned a twisted one-shot called The Nature of Reality. It's on my profile if you are interested and goes some way to explaining the line _'there were some parts of it she could never tell anyone – not even Harry'_ from this chapter._

_Oh, nearly forgot. The opening lines of this chapter are inspired by 'The Return' by J&G Reeves-Stevens._

_Anyway, that's enough of my drivel...till next time peeps. _

_Wings. _

**_Recap_**

_**Prologue** - The final battle through Hermione's eyes. We learn that she is expecting a child and that Harry is the father. Unlike canon, immediately after Voldemort's demise, despite the destruction of all of his Horcruxes, his spirit rises again._

_**Chapter one** - Harry is rescued from the lake by Hermione and not Ron. Harry learns from the Horcrux in the locket that Hermione has long held a flame for him, so when Ron returns several minutes later than in canon, he discovers them locked in a passionate kiss._

_**Chapter two -** Following his altercation with Harry, Ron flees to Bill's but knows he can never return to his old life. After spending a night on the beach reflecting on his choices, he realises he has made a terrible error. He tries to use the deluminator to return to Harry and Hermione, but the magical bond which allowed him to trace their location the first time has been broken by his actions. Instead he uses the device to take him to places unknown where he might be of use. Meanwhile, Harry and Hermione consummate their new relationship in the tent leading Harry to worry about unplanned pregnancy._

_**Chapter three** - Ron is taken to Hogsmeade by the deluminator where he is attacked by dementors. Aberforth comes to his aid, putting him in contact with Shire (Neville) leader of the Hogwarts resistance. Recognising a chance to do good, Ron joins their cause. __  
_


	6. Chapter 5 Armistice

_**A/N - **I have no idea what happened when I first posted this, but I'm told no one could review. We'll try again, __shall we?_

_I know it's been a long time coming, but when I tell you that this is draft number five, I trust you'll see how hard I've been working on it. __Katesmom2 has been an absolute star helping me get this chapter out - way beyond her regular beta duties. Thank you, L. Recap below, btw._

_**Disclaimer** - *sticks fingers in ears* I'm not listening. Potter is mine. It is! Possibly._

* * *

**'Better Never Than Late'**

**by Witherwings**

* * *

**Chapter Five -**** Armistice**

**7th February 1998**

* * *

_Greyback unlocked the heavy wooden door to the cellar with a tap of his wand and all but threw Harry inside. Bound by thick ropes, he could do little to arrest his momentum and fell heavily onto the slightly damp floor, the impact forcing the air from his lungs._

"_I hope there's something left of the girl when she's finished with her," taunted the werewolf. "It would be a shame not to get to a taste..." His sickening threat hanging in the air, Greyback slammed the door shut, leaving Harry alone in utter darkness._

_"Her-mi-o-nee!" Winded, his panicked shout issued as little more that a series of croaks, surely inaudible to any beyond the confines of his makeshift prison. Nevertheless, he was to receive an answer in the form of a terrifying, drawn out scream from directly above that echoed throughout the stately home making the awful sound ten times worse; Hermione was being tortured._

_Unable to raise his bound hands to cover them, his ears were assaulted, first by the unbearable screams of his girlfriend, followed closely by the maniacal laughter of Bellatrix Lestrange, the vicious Death Eater clearly revelling in her task._

_"HERMIONE!" Thrashing like a wild animal trapped in a snare, he fought a futile battle against his bindings. He needed to free himself. He needed to get to her - to save her – but the sounds coming from the floor above went through him like a dagger to the heart, leaving him unable to form so much as a single coherent thought, let alone plan an escape._

_It was all his fault. If he had insisted. If he had persuaded her to flee the country with her parents, she would have been safe. _But she chose to come with you,_ pointed out his inner voice, a manifestation of his subconscious which spoke to him, as it had done for longer than he could accurately recall, in her voice. _She wanted to be with you, to help you. She loves you.

I don't care, I shouldn't have let her come! _Had Harry been speaking aloud he would have been screaming at the top of his lungs. _There's only one thing a person gets for loving me: dead!

_"Harry?" A new voice called out in the darkness abruptly curtailing his silent recriminations._

_Eyes wide in an effort to force his sight to adjust to the meagre illumination on offer, Harry turned his gaze towards the point that the voice had issued from, a dark silhouette just visible in the gloom. "Luna?"_

_"Yes Harry, it's me," replied the younger girl shuffling forwards a few steps._

_"Harry? Is that really you?" A second voice sounded somewhere to his left. Having shared a room for much of the last seven years, Harry knew it anywhere._

_"Dean?"_

_"Yeah."_

_"Oh, how nice," came Luna's wispy voice again. "A DA reunion."_

_Harry terse response died on his lips as, from upstairs, Bellatrix Lestrange could be heard shrieking at her victim once more._

_"You filthy mudblood. CRUCIO!"_

_Hermione's strangled cries filled the air again before falling abruptly, and terrifyingly, silent. Whilst her pleas for mercy had caused him a physical and emotional pain beyond anything he had ever known before, Harry's torment now grew tenfold, his mind's eye supplying dozens of unthinkable possibilities as to why she might have fallen silent. Each more dreadful than the last._

_Of course, he was no stranger to torture himself, having been on the receiving end of the very same curse from none other than Lord Voldemort. However, not even the memory of the excruciating pain brought about by the unforgivable curse could compare to the agony of listening to it being inflicted on someone he loved, the crushing weight of his guilt threatening to consume him._

_"Listen, Luna," he began urgently. "Can you get these ropes off me?" He was grateful that the cellar was so dark that no one could see the tears streaming down his face, only the faint glimmer of hope that he might be able to escape and rescue Hermione keeping him from breaking down completely._

_"Oh, yes, I expect so," replied Luna, the dark outline of her head moving from left to right distractedly. "We keep an old nail around here somewhere if we want to break something ... just a moment ... "_

_"Hurry," urged Harry. "That's - that's Hermione up there," he added, perhaps unnecessarily._

_Luna nodded resolutely and moved away, her quiet conversation with another unidentifiable prisoner blocked out by Bellatrix's renewed attempts to interrogate her prisoner._

_"That sword was supposed to be locked in my vault at Gringotts. How did you and your little friends steal it?"_

_"P - please, I didn't - I didn't steal anything," came Hermione's faltering reply._

She's alive! _Hope swelled in Harry's chest. _But at what cost?_ Put in a demanding voice that sounded a lot like Ron's as the image of the vacant expressions worn by Neville's parents, Alice and Frank Longbottom, tortured into madness by the very same woman, swam to the surface of his thoughts, quickly squelching that nascent emotion just as Luna returned clutching the aforementioned nail._

_"You need to stay still," she instructed, before setting to her task._

_Harry could feel her digging at the rope's rough fibres to work the knots free._

_"LIES!"_

_Another terrible scream -_

_"I'm going to ask you again. Where did you get this sword? Where?"_

_"We found it - we found it – PLEASE!"_

_"HERMIONE!" cried Harry – he couldn't help himself – the rusty nail piercing his skin as he writhed as if he had been struck by the torture curse himself._

_"Please Harry, don't move," begged Luna, and he stilled himself by sheer force of will, focusing all of his attention onto the feeling of hot wetness that could only be his own blood running down is forearm. His heart was racing and his blood all but boiled within his veins. Now he understood what Bellatrix had told him nearly two years ago. Now he knew what it meant to hate - pure, unadulterated hate. He knew too, that should he now get a second chance to face her in battle, he would have no trouble summoning enough malice to wield the Cruciatus curse far more effectively than his fifteen year-old self had managed in the department of mysteries the night he had lost Sirius._

_"I want to know what else you have stolen from my vault."_

_"I - I've never b-been in your vault." The sound of Hermione's whimpering reply was enough to send fresh tears spilling down Harry's cheeks. Had it only been this morning, he wondered despondently, that they had made love in the long grass of an unseasonably warm English meadow? "I didn't s-steal any-anything."_

_Bellatrix's reply was inaudible, but moments later Hermione's screams - now elevated to new heights - began anew, accompanied by random thumping and banging noises that could only be her flailing limbs hitting the hardwood floor._

_Harry wanted to scream, to destroy everything, and, by the manner in which his palms were crackling with raw magical power, he thought he just might. However, instead of destroying the entire building, and probably half of the county as well, Harry felt the fight drain out of him, despair threatening to completely overwhelm him. _

_In lieu of raging to the universe he managed but a single word and there was no mistaking the pleading note of desperation it carried. "Luna?"_

_"I'm trying, I'm trying," came Luna's almost hopeless reply. Harry had never heard her voice sound so hard and empty and it scared him almost as much his own loss of hope. "I can't see a thing, and this nail is so rusty and blunt, I'm more likely to - "_

_Sudden inspiration struck Harry and he interrupted Luna's apologetic response. "Luna!" he exclaimed. "My pouch. It's hanging around my neck, it's got an old shard of glass in it. I bet that could cut through those ropes much quicker."_

_There was a slightly awkward moment as Harry heard the useless nail clatter to the floor, followed by Luna's slender hands roaming all over his chest before her fingers closed around the moleskin pouch at his neck._

_"Oh, yes," exclaimed Luna as she extracted the shard of Sirius' mirror. "This is much better," and she promptly returned to her task._

_"You're lying, filthy mudblood, and I know it! You've been inside my vault. Tell the truth. Tell the truth!"_

_Harry tried to focus on Luna's steady rhythm as she used the sharp edge of the mirror to cut through the ropes in an attempt to block out Bellatrix's increasingly demented questioning. But her voice had now risen in both hysteria and volume to such an extent that it was a fruitless endeavour._

_"What else did you take? What else have you got? Answer me or I swear I shall run you through with this knife!"_

_"There!"_

_Harry had almost forgotten Luna's presence when he felt the ropes binding him fall away. In an instant he was on his feet, groping his way towards the wall where he began probing and feeling the brickwork for evidence of an external cellar door or hopper window._

_"It's hopeless, Harry," put in Luna when she understood his intentions. "I tried to escape when I first got here. Mr Ollivander has been here for a long time, he's tried everything."_

_"What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!"_

_Hermione was screaming again and Harry pounded at the wall in utter frustration leaving his fists grazed and bloodied. It was hopeless, without magic, the cellar might as well have been Azkaban. He pressed his forehead against the cool wall in defeat, his forearms bracketing his head on either side, certain that he would collapse without the support it offered._

_"How did you get into my vault?" they heard Bellatrix scream, apoplectic. "Who helped you? Was it that dirty goblin?"_

_"We – we've never … "_

_Hermione sobs were Harry's final undoing and his knees gave way, sending him sprawling towards the floor, his head only saved from a heavy impact with the unyielding stone by a wiry, but surprisingly powerful pair of arms grasping him firmly from behind. _Dean! _The tiny fragment of his rational mind that remained reasoning that Luna must have freed him too._

_From above Hermione continued._

"_We've never been inside your vault … it isn't the real sword! It's a copy, just a copy!"_

"_A copy?" Screeched Bellatrix. "Oh, a likely story!"_

"_But we can find out easily!" put in a voice Harry recognised as that of Lucius Malfoy. "Draco, fetch Griphook. He can tell us whether the sword is real or not."_

_There was a murmur of assent, followed by a series of hurried footfalls from the room above._

Griphook!_ Roused from his stupor by the realisation that if Griphook - incredibly the very same goblin who had first shown him to his vault at Gringotts - was, as seemed likely, also imprisoned in the same dank room, there was perhaps a chance of overpowering his Slytherin rival when he came to carry out his father's orders._

_He shoved himself back to his feet and stumbled forward in the darkness with the intention of taking up a position to affect an ambush whilst simultaneously urging Luna and Dean to 'get back'. However, only a couple of steps towards his goal, he found himself physically restrained by a strong hand ensnaring itself around his right wrist, his shoulder protesting vociferously as he was jerked to a halt._

_Spinning on the spot, Harry strained his eyes into the darkness in an attempt to identify the person responsible. However, the all encompassing darkness, far from easing as his eyes accustomed to the lack of light, now seemed to be all but physically pressing in on him from all sides, proving just as effective as an invisibility cloak in masking their identity._

_"Listen," he growled in urgent whisper. "We don't have time for this. Malfoy's coming down here. This might be our … _my_ only chance..." to rescue Hermione he finished silently, unable to voice the thought aloud._

_"Precisely." Both of Harry's eyebrows shot up as he recognised the speaker as Luna - he had assumed Dean had restrained him, believing the waif-like girl too slight to anchor him so firmly in place. "And you'll be far more likely to succeed if we help you," she continued serenely, her voice in complete contrast to her vice-like grip on Harry's arm. "Three against one ... it's simple mathematics."_

_"No," retorted Harry, shaking off her grip. "Too many people have died for me already. You'll be safer if you just do as I say and get back." His last words issued as an almost feral snarl and he turned to resume his course towards the thin rectangle of light that was the doors outline._

_Undeterred, both Luna and now Dean grabbed Harry by whatever means they could gain a clumsy purchase on his body, holding him firmly in place._

_"Luna's right, mate," came Dean's voice this time. "Remember what you said when we first formed the DA? You told us that you didn't know what you were doing half the time - that you nearly always had help … well, we're here, and we're offering to take that risk - "_

_Harry cut him off. "Well I'm not! Not anymore! No one else is going to die for me. Now do as I say and get back. It's for the greater good."_

_Harry's voice, which had been rising perilously close to a level that their conversation could be overheard from the upper floors, trailed away to nothing as the impact of that particular choice of wording sank in. He had intended to say 'It's for your own good', but instead he found himself parroting the very same words a young Albus Dumbledore had once used to convince himself of the righteousness of his questionable actions._

Is it possible? _he wondered silently. _Am I just repeating all of Dumbledore's mistakes? Keeping secrets, refusing to allow or accept others help. Isn't that why I've been so mad at Dumbledore this past year? For leaving me so thoroughly in the dark?

_Harry's epiphany occurred within the space of just a couple of heartbeats, but something of his decision to allow Luna and Dean to help him must have been noticeable in is body language for he felt them both released their grips on him several moments before he had consciously recognised that he had even made that choice._

_"Ok," he said speaking quickly, the sounds of footsteps scuttling down the stairs outside warning him that he had but moments to spare. "But this could be our only shot. We hit him and we hit him hard._

_Harry sensed rather than saw both of his former class-mates nod in agreement before moving stealthily towards the doorway in preparation to ambush Draco who's voice now called out from the other side of the door._

_"Nice try Potter. Did you think I'd be stupid enough to enter without casting a sensory charm first. Get back from the door and don't try anything stupid or I'll kill you and your little friends."_

_Harry cursed aloud for underestimating the Malfoy heir but did as he was bidden; he doubted Draco had the backbone for murder, but he also knew that his former quidditch rival would not hesitate to curse anyone of them with all manner of nasty hexes should they step out of line._

_The door flew open, Harry's eyes retreating to slits in the too-bright light pouring over the threshold. Wand held high in front of him, Malfoy strode inside, his pale eyes darting from side to side nervously before they fixed on what Harry had at first assumed to be a small heap of rags. Bending low, Malfoy seized the arm of the battered and bloodied goblin and hauled him to his feet, his wand pushed deep into the thick skin of his neck as he dragged him backwards toward the door._

_Furious with himself for not thinking to find the goblin earlier, Harry locked his gaze on Griphook's dark eyes and tried to impart his desire that he should conceal the truth of the swords origins with a subtle shake of his head._

_"Nice seeing you again, Potter," spat Draco and the door slammed shut._

_Whether Griphook had accepted, or even understood Harry's silent request, he could not say, the goblin's obsidian eyes proving completely unreadable in the instant before they were plunged back into darkness again._

_"How peculiar," said Luna, breaking the silence that had fallen._

_"Sorry Luna?" asked Dean. "What's peculiar?"_

_"Harry's mirror. I still have it in my hand," she explained. "Whilst the door was open I could have sworn I saw someone looking back at me through it. Someone with - "_

_" - Blue eyes!" exclaimed Harry, ensuring that the final two words came in stereo._

_Using her voice and his memory of her last position before the door had closed, Harry rushed towards the occasionally eccentric girl with his arms outstretched, knowing that what she claimed to have seen this time was in fact very real. Groping for her in the darkness, his palms made contact, first with her shoulders, before he skimmed his hands down her slender arms, eventually cupping them around her hands in which he could feel she still clasped the shard of Sirius' mirror._

_Accepting his unspoken, but obvious request, Luna released her grip on it and Harry brought the fragment of magical mirror to his face. Not even sure if he was holding it the right way round he yelled into it, his lapse in control drowned out by the resumption of Hermione's awful screams; she was being tortured again._

_"Help us, please. We're being held in the cellar of Malfoy Manor."_

_Whether real, figment of his imagination, or an afterimage of the open doorway burnt onto his retina, Harry swore he saw a brief flash of red in response to his plea, but the question of whether it was real or not was rendered irrelevant a moment later as a loud crack echoed thorough the space just a few seconds before Hermione's agonising screams fell silent._

_"Harry Potter?" squeaked an unmistakable voice._

_"Dobby? But how did you … where did you - "_

_"Dobby has come to rescue you," stated the elf in a matter-of-fact manner._

_Another dreadful scream; Harry cut to the essentials._

_"Can you Dissaparate out of this cellar?"_

_"Why of course ... I'm an elf."_

_Harry could picture the little elf shrugging, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world_.

_"Right. Dobby, I want you to take Luna, Dean and Mr Ollivander to ... " Harry's sentence faded to nothing as he realised he knew of absolutely no where that he could send his friends and the wand maker where they might be safe. A fact that the House-elf obviously picked up on._

_"It's okay, Harry Potter, sir," he squeaked. "Dobby knows of the perfect place."_

_"Great," said Harry. "You take them there and then - "_

_"Whoa! Hang on a second, Harry," interrupted Dean. "I thought you'd agreed to let us help you. We're not going anywhere."_

_"We want to help you," chimed in Luna._

_Not wanting to waste anymore time in what he knew would be a futile effort to change their minds, Harry agreed. "Just take Mr Ollivander then, Dobby. Make sure he's safe and then come back. Can you do that?"_

_By way of an answer, Harry heard the little elf move confidently across the darkened room - those protuberant eyes evidently more functional than he had first assumed – and instruct the obviously frail wand maker to take his hand. The was another loud crack, and Harry knew that they were gone._

* * *

**4****th**** May, 1998**

* * *

Hermione, hand atop her stomach, listened inattentively as Harry described their escape from Malfoy manor to Madame Pomfrey, her eyes mindlessly tracing the countless tiny droplets of rain as they meandered down the window pane.

The worst of the storm had now passed, but, as the rumble of thunder grew ever more distant with every passing second, Hermione came to realise that the hospital wing had faired little better than the rest of the school during the battle – the many holes in its roof creating a constant staccato beat that sounded like a thousand tiny feet dancing a haphazard rhythm as the drips hit the bases of the several metal buckets set about the space to collect the leaks.

Dimly, as if he were describing events that had occurred to someone else, Hermione noted that Harry had now reached the part of the tale that detailed Luna's and Dean's assistance in their escape. The words washed over her and she let them go, content for now to lock the memories of that place into the deepest corner of her mind. She did not require a degree in psychology to know that suppressing such traumatic memories could be not considered healthy, yet she could not bring herself to care. Maybe one day, when the world had not gone to hell in a hand basket, she would have time to heal, but right now she just needed to focus on remaining functional. Something she knew she would be unable to do if she allowed her mind to dwell of the events that Harry was currently elucidating to the school nurse.

However, her forced apathy lasted only as long as long as it took for Harry to reach Dobby's role in their escape. With so many question still unanswered as to the little elf's most welcome arrival and subsequent death, she couldn't help but analyse Harry's explanation in the hopes of noting something she had previously missed.

"Dobby?" Madame Pomfrey was asking, her features even more drawn and pale than when Hermione had awoken. "Wasn't he the little elf Professor Dumbledore hired?"

Harry nodded, a single, slow inclination of his chin, apparently unable to reply in the affirmative aloud.

"And you think whomever Miss Lovegood saw in the mirror sent him to you?"

"I - I don't know," replied Harry, his voice so quiet that Hermione had to strain her ears to hear it over the now slowing rhythm of the rain. "Everything happened so quickly after we overpowered Wormtail, I - I never got a chance to ask him before he - before he..."

Harry's voice, already cracking with emotion, failed and Hermione slipped her hand into his, offering it a comforting squeeze, which he returned, albeit weakly.

Knowing that Harry was surely re-living the memory of holding the little elf as his life slipped away on that windswept, Cornish beach, Hermione took up the baton of the explanation, now certain that she would learn nothing more of how Dobby had come to find them today.

"We found the other mirror in Aberforth's home, but he didn't know anything about it. He'd been away on Order business and when he'd returned, Dobby was gone. He never knew what had happened until we told him..."

Now it was Hermione's turn to fall silent, the enormity of Dobby's sacrifice weighing heavily upon her shoulders.

It was Madame Pomfrey who spoke next. "He was a very brave little elf," she concluded, and Hermione could see that her brown eyes were swimming with tears, the first time she could ever recall such an open display of emotion from the otherwise stern matron.

For a long moment thereafter the room fell into a pensive silence, only the now occasional drops of water falling from high overhead intruding into the otherwise lengthening silence.

Again it was the school's nurse who finally pulled them from their individual reflections.

"Well then," she began. "If nothing else, this certainly explains your unexpected pregnancy, Miss Granger." Her tone was carefully measured as she attempted to re-establish a certain degree of emotional separation from her patients. "I do not believe that your ... _ordeal_ … has resulted in any permanent injury to either yourself or your child," she continued, her fragile emotional control nearly breaking as she sought for a suitably clinical description of the horrors the expectant mother had endured. "However, I would like to monitor you closely over the next few days."

Those who knew her well recognised that her often no-nonsense, occasionally brisk bedside manner was little more than a veneer, a coping mechanism she had developed during the first conflict almost two decades previously to protect herself from the horrors of war. One she had never sought to break. It was an omission she had grown increasingly grateful for in more recent years as the shadow of Lord Voldemort returned and she once again found herself providing care to the soldiers of the light. However, the pain and suffering that these two students (both of whom she could not deny that she had grown more than fond of in the last seven years), proved more than even she could successfully detach herself from.

She wasn't ashamed of her resultant loss of emotional control - after all, it was compassion that set them apart from the Death Eaters - but neither did she want to add to the youngsters burden by allowing her facade to slip further than she had already permitted. As such, when she next spoke, it was as their healer and not as someone who cared deeply for them.

"There's an Order meeting in the great hall tomorrow morning that I've no doubt you'll both want to attend, but right now I prescribe a good nights sleep - "

Hermione, recognising just how exhausted she felt, agreed mechanically, the retelling of the harrowing events of the past few months leaving her desperate to welcome the blissful oblivion of sleep.

" - For both of you," the Matron added, presumably in response to Harry, who had wearily pushed himself up from his position on the edge of Hermione's bed and was in the process of bending to retrieve the wooden chair he had spent the previous two nights in from the floor.

Without another word, school nurse waved her wand and Hermione felt her hospital cot enlarge around her until it had more than doubled in size. The large, comfortable bed, that the matron's engorgement charm had created was easily twice the size of the 'double' they had shared for the duration of their stay at shell cottage.

"You might also want to take these," she added, sending a tray of containing several vials of dreamless sleep potion soaring across the room. "I'll also make sure someone brings you fresh clothes first thing tomorrow," she concluded before abruptly excusing herself from the room, the slight tremor in the stalwart nurse's voice leaving Hermione in little doubt that Madame Pomfrey did not wish either of them to witness the effect their tale had wrought on her.

She offered her silent thanks to the matron's retreating back as the tray landed softly on her bedside table. Reaching over, she gratefully unstoppered one and drained its contents, before passing another to Harry, who remained rooted to the spot alongside the bed.

For an instant, Hermione thought that he was going to decline Madame Pomfrey's unspoken, yet obvious invitation to share a bed, possibly out of some sort of misplaced sense of impropriety. However, perhaps recognising her desperate need to not be alone at that moment, to Hermione's enormous relief, he wordlessly accepted the proffered vial, downing it's contents in a single gulp.

Still fully clothed, Harry climbed onto the plush mattress alongside her and pulled her into his arms. His clothes were redolent of grime, and something else that Hermione's senses likened to muggle gunpowder, but she did not resist the motion and instead moulded herself to his side, her ear pressed against his chest so that she could listen to the gentle thrum of his heart.

"Harry?" she whispered, knowing that they were so close that he would be ale to hear her easily. "What did you mean earlier when you said that Dumbledore told you that the snake was the last one?" she asked, knowing he would understand to what she was referring.

When Harry replied several seconds later, he sounded drowsy and barely conscious causing Hermione to wonder if Madame Pomfrey had laced the potion with a sleeping draught.

"It's a long story, Hermione," he replied. "I promise to tell you everything tomorrow, okay?"

Her first instinct was to insist that he divulge the full story immediately, however, motivated by both her complete faith that he would indeed tell her everything, and by the wave of tiredness that swept through her at that moment confirming her theory regarding the potion, she quickly reconsidered. She nodded in agreement, her cheek rubbing against the coarse fabric of Harry's jacket as she felt Harry relax at her side.

For that one brief moment there was only the two of them, the steady rhythm of Harry's heart allowing her to lose herself in the here and now, all of the hurt and suffering they had endured momentarily pushed to one side. Feeling content, Hermione allowed her eyes to drift shut, and within moments, both she and Harry had drifted off into a deep, dreamless slumber.

* * *

**5th May, 1998**

* * *

When Hermione awoke the following morning, it was to the estheses of both the distant calls of the many birds and beasts that called the forbidden forest home, combined with the distinctive aroma of petrichor. Intellectually, Hermione understood that the familiar scent that hung in the air following a rain storm was merely a by product of bacterial spores being released from the dry soil, yet it was also an aroma that she had long associated with new beginnings.

Eyes still closed, she inhaled the musty scent deeply hoping to somehow imbue herself with a sense of hopefulness for the future. An endeavour, she noted with no small degree of surprise, she found unexpectedly easy to achieve.

Perhaps it was foolish optimistic, but as she savoured the warmth of the sun on her closed eyelids she felt that just about anything was possible causing her to wonder whether Madame Pomfrey had slipped more than just a little sleeping draught into their potions last night; a cheering charm perhaps?

She lay on her left side, knees slightly bent, and had thrown off the standard issue hospital blankets at some point during the night, presumably owing to the fact that the thunderstorm had failed to completely eliminate the humidity from the air. Harry lay behind her, as close to her as was physically possible, his chest pressed against her back, his right arm curled protectively around her waist so that his hand, fingers splayed wide, lay atop her exposed abdomen, her gown having ridden up slightly during the night. A Mona Lisa smile graced her lips as she noted that her own hand rested on top of Harry's, her fingers interlocking with his so that they were both subconsciously protecting their unborn child.

Although she was perfectly content to remain that way until the sounds of the morning chorus finally intruded into Harry's slumber, a prickle of unease ran up the length of Hermione's spine as she sensed the presence of someone, or something watching her from nearby.

Fearing the worst, her eyes abruptly snapped open and her right hand instinctively shot towards her hip, before she realised that her wand, or, more accurately, Bellatrix's wand, was probably still in the front pocket of the jeans she had been wearing during the battle, her hand groping uselessly in mid-air.

Silently cursing herself for failing to ensure that her only means of magical protection had been returned to her, she directed her gaze toward the point her subconscious had perceived a presence, ready to spring from her supine position and tackle them physically if need be.

However, far from being confronted by the gang of snatchers or lone Death Eater her imagination had conjured up for her, Hermione's gaze came to rest instead on a familiar mass of orange fur.

Relief flooded her veins. "Crookshanks?" she whispered.

Sure enough, the giant, part kneazle hybrid, that Harry had once described as either a very big cat, or quite a small tiger, sat on the next bed over, his large, yellow eyes fixed unblinkingly on her whilst his bottlebrush tail swayed from side to side hypnotically evoking the mental image of a lion stalking its prey in her mind's eye.

The last time she had seen her faithful pet had been at the Burrow on the afternoon of Bill and Fleur's wedding the previous summer, and, to the best of her knowledge, there he had remained for the duration of their year-long hunt for Voldemort's Horcruxes. _So how has he found his way to the castle?_

Before she could so much as voice the question aloud, the giant ginger cat launched himself forwards and landed next to her heavily, causing the bed's springs to creak loudly in protest.

As if propelled by one of Fred and George's decoy detonators, Harry was immediately bolt upright. However, where Hermione had merely groped blindly for her nonexistent wand, Harry's was in his palm so rapidly that Hermione could not say with any degree of accuracy where he had been concealing it.

"Harry, no!" she cried, and forced the shaft of the wand, she now recognised as having formerly belonged to Albus Dumbledore, aside just as a powerful stunner was discharged from its tip.

Although, no longer directed towards him, the brilliant flash of light and accompanying loud crack sent Crookshanks tearing away, his squat body little more than an orange blur as he disappeared under one of the beds opposite.

Over the sounds of her hissing, spitting, but mercifully unharmed pet, Hermione twisted in on the spot and sandwiched Harry's cheeks between her palms so as to force his wild green eyes to meet hers in an effort to convey to him that there was no danger. "It's just Crookshanks, Harry," she crooned. "Just Crookshanks."

Harry blinked.

Once.

Twice.

A third time.

His final blink accompanied by an almost imperceptible shake of his head as his conscious mind finally caught up with his bodies instinctive reaction to the perceived threat.

"Your – your cat?" he said, his tone quickly morphing from concern, through disbelief, before finally settling on wry amusement. "Sorry," he added with a laconic shrug. "I guess I'm still a little jumpy."

Hermione allowed her hands to drop to Harry's sides. "Just don't let it happen again," she replied in a passable imitation of her sometimes scolding tone – albeit one that would have been far more believable were it not for the broad smile adorning her features.

Harry sank back onto the soft pillows Madame Pomfrey had conjured. "Cross my heart," he said, using the conjoined index and middle fingers of one hand to trace an X across the left side of his chest, whilst the other rubbed the sand from his eyes. "What time is it anyway?"

"A little after six," answered Hermione, following a quick glance toward her battered wristwatch. "And keep your voice down," she admonished, already half way towards lowering herself to the floor, presumably to check on her pet.

She padded silently across the room before dropping to all fours at the foot of the bed she had seen him take cover under. "Did that mean old man scare you, Crookshanks?" she asked in a glissando voice she reserved only for when speaking to her companion.

A warm smile pulled at the corner of Harry's lips as he watched this one sided exchange, as, in response to her gentle cajoling, Crookshanks emerged from his hiding place and promptly found himself swept into Hermione's arms.

"That's a good boy," cooed Hermione as she carried her awkward load back towards their bed, Harry's smile blossoming into a full out grin in response.

Watching her carrying the giant orange fur ball in her arms, soft sounds of comfort slipping from her lips, it really wasn't very hard to envision a time, not so far away, when her arms would be cradling a child instead … _their_ child.

"What?" she demanded as she reached the foot of their bed and caught sight of Harry's goofy grin.

"Nothing," he replied, raising his hands in mock defensiveness. "You're just going to make a great mum is all."

Evidently not the response she had been expecting, whatever witty remark she had planned died on her lips, her slightly parted lips forming a perfect 'O' instead.

"Do you – do you really think so?" she asked when she had found her voice once more.

"I know so."

Hermione directed a smile towards the floor as she felt a blush rise into her cheeks, but Harry, not to be derailed, scooted to the edge of the bed and relieved her of her burden.

"I mean it, Hermione," he said, lowering the feline to the floor before clasping one of her now free hands and pulling her onto his lap. "You're – _We're_ going to be great parents."

"Even with all this going on?" she asked, voicing one of her deepest fears aloud, knowing Harry would follow her meaning.

"_Especially_ with all this going on," he replied instantaneously, with such ardency, that Hermione could do nothing but believe him. "Now more than ever we've got something worth fighting for and I'm going to make sure that this little girl - " he put his hand on top of her stomach for emphasis, " - gets the life she deserves. The life we all deserve."

Hermione was dimly aware of the tears slipping down her cheeks, but whether motivated by Harry's faith in her parenting abilities, his renewed determination or his obvious love for their unborn child, she could not say. In truth it did not matter. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face on his shoulder, her tears soaking into the material of the jacket he still wore from the night before.

"Hey, hey," said Harry. "I didn't mean to upset you. I was just trying to make you - "

The end of his sentence was cut off as Hermione pulled back and pressed a firm, if slightly wet, kiss to his lips.

"And you did," she promised as she pulled back, wiping at her tears with the back of her palm. "These are happy tears."

"Promise?" said Harry, recalling his only other experience of kissing a crying girl and all the emotions Hermione had told him that Cho would have been experiencing in that moment so long ago.

"Promise," assured Hermione, repeating his early cross over her heart. "But we really need to get you some new clothes," she added, wrinkling her nose in only partially faked disgust as she attempted to lighten the mood somewhat. "These are disgusting," and she pulled at one very grimy sleeve to punctuate her point.

"You mean like those?" Harry replied, using the same arm to gesture towards the bed where Crookshanks had earlier taken refuge. There, Hermione could now see, two neat piles of clothes, which had either been there the whole time, or, as she felt was more likely, had been magically placed there in the last few minutes.

"Madame Pomfrey must have arrange for one of the elf's to bring them up," surmised Harry, recalling the Matron's promise of the night before, but Hermione was barely listening. Something laying on top of the pile had drawn her eye and she was already half way across the room before Harry had finished speaking.

There, laying atop one of her own pairs of jeans was something she feared she would never see again. _My wand! _Still disbelieving her own eyes, she reached out a slightly trembling hand and wrapped her fingers around the intricately carved shaft, a surge of warmth flowing up her wand arm just like the very first time she had held it in Ollivander's store so many years ago. It was like greeting an old friend.

"Well, I'll be..." came Harry's voice from her side, having evidently followed her across the room.

"I know! Isn't it incredible?" Hermione was positively beaming. "I never thought I'd see it again."

Harry parted his lips and was just about to wonder aloud who could have been responsible when Hermione noticed a note. She hastily unfolded it a read the child-like script aloud: _For Mistress._

'Kreacher!" exclaimed Harry and Hermione in stereo.

"I do believe that old curmudgeon is warming to you, Hermione," teased Harry, pressing a chaste kiss to her hairline.

'Stop it Harry," retorted Hermione, but her tone held none of the irritation the words alone would have implied. "We've got to thank him somehow. Do you think he's still in the kitchens?"

"Most probably," answered Harry, scratching at his stubble coated face distractedly. "I haven't told him to leave after all."

"Then we'll go there first. Let him know how much it means to me," _and maybe get some breakfast too,_ she added silently, suddenly realising just how hungry she was.

"Well I can't go like this," said Harry, pulling at the collar of his ruined jacket. "I'm going to take a shower."

He gave Hermione a quick peck on the cheek, grabbed his pile of clothes from the bed, and made his way towards the door Hermione knew concealed the infirmary's bath room, the sound of running water reaching her ears a moment later.

Thinking that a very fine idea, Hermione grabbed her own pile and followed in her boyfriends footsteps.

* * *

Having been thoroughly, magically cleansed by the school's healer, Hermione shower took considerably less time than Harry's, ensuring that, when he finally emerged from his stall, she had already succeeded in part towelling, part charming herself dry and had already slipped on a pair of cotton knickers, a bra and a white button down blouse she recognised as one she had left behind in her school trunk at the Weasley's, suggesting that they had brought both her trunk and her pet to the school in the days after the battle.

"At least you got something nice to wear," grumbled Harry, tousling his hair with a towel. "I've got to wear my old school uniform."

"Best where's there's none," replied Hermione, repeating one of her grandmother's oft used phrases without really thinking as she grabbed her jeans and retreated to the infirmary's main room knowing that the high humidity in the bathroom would make wriggling into the denim trousers a nigh on impossible task.

"Be out in a moment," Harry called after her as the door clicked shut.

True to his word, a couple of minutes later, Harry emerged from the bathroom, clean shaven and fully dressed, a exasperated sigh reaching his ears the moment he turned the door handle.

"What's wrong?" he wanted to know, the words spilling from his lips before he had a chance to assimilate the scene before him; a scene that would have do doubt enabled him to answer that particular question himself.

Hermione lay on their bed with her back slightly arched, both of her hands trying to force the two halves of her waistband to bridge the gap between button and button-hole.

"My trousers don't fit anymore." The pout was as evident in her voice as it was on her lips.

A strange expression that Hermione read as something akin to pride appeared on Harry's face. "That's just because you're taking care of her so well," he said, striding over to the bed and taking both of her hands in his so as to bring a halt to her futile efforts. "Here, let me," he added, extracting the Elder wand before pointing it at her waist band.

Using the same spell that Madame Pomfrey had employed the night before, he silently enlarged the waist by a couple of inches, before fastening the button with a flick of the wrist.

"Thank you, Harry," she said, genuinely touched by both his words and his tender actions towards her.

"Just don't tell Fred and George," he replied with a wink. "You know I'll never live it down if they hear I'm your – your seamstress!"

Hermione stifled a giggle as she allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. "My lips are sealed," she promised.

Flashing her a grateful smile, Harry offered her his hand, which she graciously accepted, along with his unspoken offer to help her to her feet.

"What time did Pomfrey say this meeting was?" asked Harry, as they walked arm in arm towards the door.

"She didn't. But I'm sure we've got time for some breakfast first," she replied.

Thinking better of his glib comment about eating for two, Harry simply offered her a nod of agreement, his feet bringing him to a stop a single stride away from the still closed, infirmary door.

"Are you ready for this?" he asked, his hand hovering a few inches above the door handle. "Once we step through these doors we're at war again."

Hermione's eyes slipped involuntarily towards her stomach, her resolve immediately hardening. "I'm ready," she said, and grasping the handle herself, swung the door wide.

* * *

**TBC...**

* * *

_If you like you can review on your way out._

_Till Next time peeps._

* * *

**_Recap_**

_**Prologue** - The final battle through Hermione's eyes. We learn that she is expecting a child and that Harry is the father. Unlike canon, immediately after Voldemort's demise, despite the destruction of all of his Horcruxes, his spirit rises again._

_**Chapter one** - Harry is rescued from the lake by Hermione and not Ron. Harry learns from the Horcrux in the locket that Hermione has long held a flame for him, so when Ron returns several minutes later than in canon, he discovers them locked in a passionate kiss._

_**Chapter two -** Following his altercation with Harry, Ron flees to Bill's but knows he can never return to his old life. After spending a night on the beach reflecting on his choices, he realises he has made a terrible error. He tries to use the deluminator to return to Harry and Hermione, but the magical bond which allowed him to trace their location the first time has been broken by his actions. Instead he uses the device to take him to places unknown where he might be of use. Meanwhile, Harry and Hermione consummate their new relationship in the tent leading Harry to worry about unplanned pregnancy._

_**Chapter three** - Ron is taken to Hogsmeade by the deluminator where he is attacked by dementors. Aberforth comes to his aid, putting him in contact with Shire (Neville) leader of the Hogwarts resistance. Recognising a chance to do good, Ron joins their cause. __  
_

_**Chapter four** - Hermione awakens in the infirmary two days post battle. She learns that she conceived because of the effects of the torture curse on her contraceptive potion as well as the fact that they are expecting a daughter._


	7. Chapter 6 A New Order

**A/Ns - **_As it has been a VERY long wait, there is a recap at the bottom of the page to help you recall the story thus far._

**_Disclaimer - _**_Ik heb geen eigen, Potter. That's Dutch for I don't own Potter.__  
_

_**Dedication** - To Violet. Gone but never forgotten. _

* * *

**'Better Never than Late'**

**by Witherwings**

* * *

**Chapter Six - A New Order**

**5th May, 1998**

* * *

Although Kreacher had been cordial enough, agreeable even, during their visit to the school's kitchen, Hermione could not fail to notice that, in the five minutes that had passed since the door to the kitchens had magically sealed itself and reverted back into a painting of a bowl of fruit behind them, her spirits had plummeted and she clutched tightly at Harry's arm in search of support, both literal and figurative in nature.

She could not say whether her bleak mood was motivated solely by the abounding evidence of the devastation the battle had wrought on the school and it's inhabitants, or else because whatever she suspected Madame Pomfrey had slipped into their potions the previous evening was finally beginning to wear off, but, whatever the cause, thick tendrils of despair threatened to ensnare her.

As oil to cement dust, they bound themselves to her pain and hopelessness until she felt as if she were standing on a precipice of a dark abyss she knew would consume her if she allowed herself to dwell on such thoughts any longer.

In an effort to force the darkness away, Hermione focused her mind of the menial task of simply placing one foot in front of the other, their ascent of the staircase seemingly many times longer than their descent had been. Every step cost her more than the last and her torpid pace was slowed yet further as they were forced to negotiate their way past whole chunks of masonry cleaved from the ancient building, great piles of debris which bore testament to someone's ineffectual efforts to begin the clear up and even the occasional, yet unmistakable, smear of dried blood.

Try as she might, Hermione found herself unable to disassociate each new claret stain from her memories of those who had fallen, her grip on Harry tightening yet further as her her eyes were drawn inexorably to the spot where Lavender Brown, her dorm mate of six years, had been found dead.

Her blood had cascaded down the three uppermost steps of the narrow staircase, pooling in the slight depressions created by the footsteps of a millennia of students.

Viciously mauled, there could have only been one perpetrator, and Hermione felt a renewed wave of savage pleasure course through her as she recalled being the one to end Fenrir Greyback's existence in the latter stages of the ferocious battle.

Her sense of grim satisfaction proved to be short lived however, quashed by the realisation that his demise had come too late to save her friend - or any of the foul creature's countless other victims for that matter. The crushing weight of that guilt coming to rest heavily on her none-to-broad shoulders.

_Crushing._ Through the depths of her despair, the single word resonated within her mind, pulling her consciousness away from her bleak recollections and back to the physical world.

It was at that moment that she became aware of an extreme pressure in her right hand. A pressure that, now she was cognisant of it, she was at a loss to understand how she could have failed to register thus far.

Automatically, her gaze slipped to the source of her discomfort: their conjoined hands. So tightly did she now cling to Harry that her knuckles had turned white, the partially healed scrapes and abrasions that scarred her flesh standing out in stark contrast to the almost ghostly pallor of the rest of her skin.

Fearful of breaking Harry's hand, and of the reproachful glare should would undoubtably receive from Madame Pomfrey (should she have to explain how she had come to crack bone in) equal measures, Hermione forced herself to relax her grip, her smooth brow furrowing into a frown when that action did not serve to immediately lessen the pain in her extremity.

Like a retreating tide, suddenly she saw the truth that had lain below the surface of her grief: _Harry is suffering too._

Unable to refute that assertion, a second parcel of guilt settled on her shoulders. So consumed had she been in battling her own inner demons, she had failed to notice her boyfriend - the father of her unborn child - struggling against his own.

Pulling him to a stop just shy of the landing by virtue of their still linked hands, Hermione grasped his other hand and turned him to face her, anxious brown eyes searching out his unfocused gaze which was shadowed under heavy brows.

"Harry?" she ventured, dragging out the two syllables of his name so that they were almost a question unto themselves. "Are you all right?"

Forcing his sight to shift from the pools of congealed blood that held his attention rapt, Harry screwed his eyelids tightly closed and attempted to draw meaning from her words.

Picking apart her enquiry, which, to his clouded mind at any rate, seemed to have been posed in a barely comprehensible foreign tongue, Harry opened his eyes and met her concerned gaze, silently wondering if he would ever be able to consider himself 'all right' again.

"So many died here, Hermione," he managed by way of reply, his voice trembling and thick with grief. "Colin. Lavender. Remus ... " he ticked off their names aloud, silently adding another fifty-five names to the list of deceased, their names indelibly seared onto his retinas. "All dead, Hermione. _Dead!_" His shouted exclamation echoed loudly, all but drowning out his sotto voce addendum, "...and for what?"

Hermione's reply was automatic and she prayed that the words would not ring as hollow to her boyfriend as they did to her own ears. "They died fighting for what they believed in, Harry."

Like the over stressed cables of a suspension bridge on the brink of collapse, the muscles in Harry's jaw suddenly pulled taught and she knew her wish was to remain unanswered.

"And they believed in me."

The utter dejection in his barely whispered words made Hermione's heart physically ache for him and she did the only thing she could think of to comfort him. Just as she had done the previous evening in the hospital wing, she pulled him into a fierce embrace, the still somewhat numb fingers of her right hand ensnaring themselves in his perpetually messy hair.

However, where yesterday Harry's frame had been wracked by great, shuddering sobs, today, not a single tear slipped from his eyes. In griefs stead, she saw only desolation, that emptiness scaring her far more than his earlier outpouring of uncontrollable grief had done.

"They didn't die for you, Harry," she whispered into his ear, her heartfelt words now filled with a certainty she had been unable to summon in her earlier platitudes. "They fought for what you represent. They fought for everything that's good in the world. They fought because they knew they must. And although they died doing it, if they were here now, I'm sure they would tell you they would do so again if it meant that those of us left behind had a chance at a happy life."

How long they stood, clinging to one another in that deserted corridor, she could not say, but at last she felt Harry nod almost imperceptibly against her shoulder and she knew that, at least on some level, she had gotten through to him.

"Don't pity the dead," Harry intoned against her neck a moment later, his voice so soft that she almost felt the words more than she actually heard them.

Involuntarily, Hermione cocked a brow at his unexpected turn of phrase. "Sorry?" she asked aloud, straightening her posture slightly so that she could look him in the eye.

A flicker of a smile ghosted across his features. "Just something Dumbledore once told me," he replied.

Hermione's arched eyebrow lowered, her whole forehead striating in concentration as she searched her near eidetic memory for any recollection of the august wizard uttering such a statement, but came up blank.

Although she was most certainly not narcissistic enough to believe she had heard, much less memorised, every notable utterance to have passed the lips of their erstwhile headmaster, Hermione felt certain (although she had no proof to support her theory) that here was yet more evidence that Harry had somehow uncovered new information during the hour or so that they had been separated during the battle.

He had all but admitted as much last night when she had quizzed him on how he had become so certain that Nagini had been the last of Lord Voldemort's Horcruxes – something they had only ever been able to postulated before. However, through a combination of sheer exhaustion and the effects of Madame Pomfrey's ministrations, he had postponed his explanation till the morning.

Her trust in him implicit, Hermione had been more than content to wait for Harry to broach the topic in his own time, but, with this new pearl of wisdom courtesy of their long dead headmaster reigniting her intellectual curiosity she felt it was high time she received some answers, the prospect of discovering the truth behind the mystery briefly pushing the dark shadows which still lingered in her thoughts to the deepest recess of her mind.

"I think it's time you told me what happened that night," she said, knowing Harry would follow her abrupt change of subject.

In lieu of response, Harry merely nodded. It was time.

* * *

"...and I guess you know the rest," he concluded somewhat lamely, his recount of the events of that night having brought him full circle to the moment of his apparent resurrection in the courtyard.

The last of his words fell around Hermione like glass, breaking her from her from her state of numb shock.

His tale was all too awful - far more terrible than even she had been able to imagine: That he had died? That he had been a Horcrux? That he had been raised only so that he might die at the proper moment? That he had learnt of all of this and yet had still gone to his fate without so much as a goodbye?

Harry's brow creased with worry; this was not the reaction he had expected. "Hermione?" he prompted, breaking the palpable silence that stretched between them. "Say something, please."

But she couldn't, her larynx felt as though it was being gripped by a tightly clenched fist.

She searched for logic, her reason, but found none to help her comprehend, her rational, analytical side - always less accessible to her where Harry was concerned - overwhelmed by a sense of complete and utter betrayal. She was incensed with Dumbledore, furious with Snape. Dammit, she was even angry with Harry.

Certain she would drown should she remain still, Hermione turned on her heel and fled towards some as yet unspecified place of solitude, the dust motes swirling angrily in her wake as her footsteps echoed loudly in the empty space.

"Hermione, wait!"

No longer the scrawny boy from the cupboard, Harry stole forward, his long strides quickly negating the advantage of her head start. Grasping her elbow with his right hand, Harry pulled her up short and turned her to face him, his free hand coming to rest on her cheek in an unsuccessful effort to cajole her into meeting his gaze.

"Hermione?" His tone was softer now – questioning.

"Harry," she pleaded, not trusting herself to meet his eye. "I - I can't do this right now. It's too much. I just need some time ... "

"I'm not asking you to do anything," replied Harry, his statement carrying none of the accusation that the words alone might have implied. "I just don't want you to have to deal with this on your own."

The tenuous hold Hermione maintained on her emotion control shattered. On the heels of a shudderingly exhaled breath, hot tears born of indignance, burst forth and traced salty lines down her cheeks. Harry had been through an ordeal worse than anything she had been able to imagine, and yet here he was attempting to comfort _her._

"Hey ... _hey,"_ he shushed, the fault lines of worry that furrowed his skin morphing into a look of alarm.

His hand shifted smoothly from her cheek and into her mass of curls so as to pull her close and her head came to rest against his collar bone whilst his other palm moved in soothing circles on the small of her back.

However, far from comforting her, his tender actions undid the last semblance of control that remained.

"Why - aren't - you - angry?" she sobbed hysterically, her logic once again refusing her call to answer the question of why this fact disturbed her more than anything else.

Each barely coherent word was punctuated by a feebly balled fist to his chest which Harry finally caught before she could strike him for a fifth time.

She could feel her pulse, fast and thready, pounding against the fingers of the hand Harry had clamped firmly but painlessly around her wrist to halt her ineffectual assault. Her legs trembled and the contents of her stomach threatened to make an unwelcome reappearance, the tiny fragment of her rational mind which fought to regain control of her runaway emotions diagnosing her symptoms as those of shock.

"I'm getting Madame Pomfrey," came Harry's voice, albeit distantly, the words reaching her ears as a confused jumble as if she had lost the ability to comprehend the spoken word.

Dimly, as if experiencing everything through someone else's body, Hermione was aware of being lowered to the ground, that action followed by another collection of barely recognised words - _Expeco Patronum_ - and of the sound of hurried footsteps reaching her ears a moment, or conversely, perhaps many hours later.

"Thank goodness I've found you," said a new voice, one she knew she should recognise yet found herself unable to place as it swirled about her, both everywhere and nowhere all at once.

"What happened, Mr Potter?"

"I - I don't ... I don't know … "

Even in her disorientated state, Hermione could tell that there was more than just simple panic in Harry's voice; something was very wrong with him – _with_ _them_ – and she tried to call out, although only an inarticulate gasp escaped her lips. The effort drained her of what little strength she seemed to possess, the world around her receded to a tiny prick of light as if she were observing the world from the depths of a deep well.

"Sit down before you fall down," ordered the other voice, their final words lost amidst the unmistakable sound of a dead weight hitting the floor.

_Harry!_ She tried to call out to him again, but this time even her lips refused her commands to move as the universe span dizzyingly about here before winking out of existence all together.

* * *

Her next awareness was that of a white hot light searing its image onto her eyes like a branding iron.

Several heartbeats later she became aware that, not only did she have eyes, but that she was trying to force them shut against the remorseless illumination, those facts in turn making her aware that she _was_ aware.

_I've got to stop coming around like this, _she thought ruefully as her sluggish mind attempted to piece together the moments prior to her loss of consciousness. Before that puzzle could be fully assembled within her mind, a familiar voice drew her attention.

"You gave us quite a scare back there, Miss Granger."

Madame Pomfrey's kindly brown eyes swam into view directly above, the school's nurse using her illuminated wand tip to alternately flash a light into her eyes.

"Harry! The baby!" Panicked, Hermione pressed her palms down – not against a soft hospital mattress as she had expected – but instead against the cool stone she lay against and shoved herself into a sitting position.

An action she immediately regretted.

Like a piece of driftwood tossed around on a stormy sea, the whole world pitched nauseatingly one way then the other before finally coming to rest somewhere near the horizontal as she sank back down to her elbows the world once more greying at the corners of her vision.

"Take it easy," counselled Pomfrey her hand instinctively moving to support the back of Hermione's head. "And they're fine," she added, "they're both fine."

Hermione swallowed thickly and nodded her understanding.

"What happen?" she asked a moment later when she felt sure the lump in her throat would not restrict her ability to speak.

In response to her question, Harry shifted into her line of sight. He was pale and a little green around the gills as her grandmother would say, but other wise none the worse for wear.

"You feinted," he stated matter-of-factly, a gentle smile gracing his lips as he took hold of her clammy hand.

"You both did," cut in Madame Pomfrey fixing Harry with a look that said very clearly that she would have preferred it had he remained still.

Within the same heartbeat, Hermione's heart soared and her brow furrowed. Seeing Harry both whole and unharmed had made her happier than she had any right to be given everything that had happened over the previous few days, however, her insatiable thirst for knowledge could not ignore the as yet unanswered question as to how both she and Harry had come to lose consciousness at precisely the same instant – coincidences were not something that she believed in.

"I'm sorry," she said, her frown deepening, "I – I don't understand."

Pomfrey's expression briefly softened before her brow striated into a somewhat scolding look. "No," she said, "I don't suppose you would. However," she continued, "I would expect students who have spent quite as much time in my infirmary as you two have over the years to understand the importance of waiting to be discharged by their attending physician prior to gallivanting all over the castle."

"The potions!" exclaimed Hermione, comprehension dawning on her features.

Madame Pomfrey nodded. "The potions," she agreed. "Saying nothing of your physical injuries or the strain of your pregnancy on your body," she explained, "both you and Mr Potter were suffering from - amongst other things - exhaustion, malnutrition and severe stress when you came into my care, and whilst, under normal circumstances, I prefer not to administer mood or sleep affecting potions, in this instance ... " The nurse allowed her words to trail away, knowing both of her patients understood the unspoken implications – their conditions had been so severe do as to force her hand.

"Given the dosages I needed to prescribe, you will both need to be methodically weaned if you wish to avoid any repeats of such complications. I do not even want to think what might have happened had Mr Potter been unsuccessful in sending his Patronus to alert me to your condition … "

Chastising herself for failing to consider the medical implications of the sudden withdrawal of their medication, Hermione flashed Harry a grateful smile. He had saved her. Again.

"I have administered a weak cheering charm on both of you," continued Pomfrey, "the effects of which you should be feeling by now."

Hermione mimicked Harry's subtle nod by way of reply, a gentle heat, like being submerged in a warm bath, permeating through her body.

"Good," said Madame Pomfrey, as she took in the dual nods from her patients. "That should hold you until I can get you back to the infirmary," and she pushed herself up from her haunches and offered her hand to assist Hermione to her feet.

"Now," she continued once they had all re-found their feet, "I would be remiss in my duties if I did not encourage you both to rest, however," she added quickly, raising a hand to forestall the objections that had already formed on both Harry and Hermione's lips, "as I am fully aware that my objections would prevent neither of you from attending the meeting this morning, I will settle for accompanying you so that I may may monitor your conditions. But only on the further condition that you return to the infirmary with me immediately afterwards."

Knowing it would be pointless to argue, Hermione and Harry shared a look and silently agreed to the matron's terms.

"Thank you, Madame Pomfrey," said Harry, hoping he had accurately conveyed the sincerity of his words.

"Very well," said Pomfrey, sealing the deal. "What are we waiting for then?"

Without waiting for a reply, the matron turned on her heel and led the way towards the great hall, Harry and Hermione falling into step a few paces behind her, their arms automatically going around one another's waists.

"I'm sorry I lost it back there," whispered Hermione.

"If you felt anything like as bad as I did, I can't say I blame you," shrugged Harry. "I know you didn't mean it."

"Actually," said Hermione, her conscious mind stunned by the admission already spilling past her lips, "I did."

Harry's stride faltered slightly at her side. "You – you did?" he asked, his tone laced with uncertainty.

Cursing her timing, Hermione met his gaze – this _was_ a conversation they needed to have, but this was neither the time nor the place and she said as much aloud.

"No, tell me," urged Harry, his head tipped quizzically to one side.

_He really isn't angry, _she realised with a jolt. _And he doesn't understand why you are, _put in her reinvigorated logical side.

Squaring her jaw, Hermione nodded curtly. This she could do. She was Hermione Jean Granger, brightest witch of her age, the brains behind the golden trio. Explaining things what what she did best. If anyone could make Harry see that the unquestioning trust he had placed in Dumbledore was mis-placed it was her.

"Dumbledore knew the truth for years," she began, somewhat surprised, but nevertheless pleased, to find her voice reasonably steady and even. "At the very least, the moment you handed him that diary, he knew - suspected at least - that Voldemort had transferred much more than just his ability to speak Parseltongue to you.

"Even if we give him the benefit of the doubt and accept that he didn't confirm his suspicions until later," she continued, unable to prevent her hands from balling into fists at her side at the injustice of it all, "you've seen the memories, Harry. He knew the truth long before he died and he never told you! All those private lessons last year? All that time alone together and he never once told what he expected of you. Never properly prepared you for what was to come. Not even when he knew he was going to die. How can you hold so little animosity towards a man who clearly thought of you as little more than pig for slaughter?"

She was breathing hard now, her chest rising and falling unevenly as she fought to maintain both her fragile vocal and emotional equilibrium, the pain of her nails digging into her own flesh a welcome distraction from the new wave of tears prickling at her eyelids.

They were now within sight of the main entrance hall, a slant of light pouring through the partially opened doors to the great hall.

Harry brought them to a halt. "I was angry, Hermione, I was," she said sincerely, closing the space between them, his hands gently cupping her tightly clenched fist. "But then I thought about how different my life would have been if he had told me."

This was not the response Hermione had expected and she could only stare mutely at her boyfriend sensing he had more to add.

Spurred on by her willingness to hear him out, Harry continued. "I would have never known friendship. Never known love ... or _family,_" he added, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, his eyes shifting fleetingly to her abdomen. "Why get close to anyone if none of it mattered ... if all of it was going to be ripped away? Honestly, Hermione, I'm glad he never told me.

Unconsciously matching his earlier mannerisms, Hermione pulled back to arms length and regarded him with her head tipped slightly over to one side. Harry Potter, was many things; brave, fiercely loyal, selfless to a fault, but she couldn't deny that she was seeing him in a whole new light.

"That's - that's really wise of you, Harry," she said at length, trying, and - she feared - failing to conceal the surprise which coloured her voice.

"It was overdue," shrugged Harry, his lips splitting into a wide, goofy grin - an expression she found herself matching.

"Are you two coming or do I have to march you both back to the hospital wing?" came Madame Pomfrey's stern voice from the opposite side of the hallway where she waited with her hand already on the door handle, her no-nonsense facade now firmly back in place.

By way of response, Harry and Hermione quickly covered the space between them, drawing level with the matron just as she swung the door silently open on its hinges, her body language unmistakably indicating that they should be the first to enter.

Mindful of Madame Pomfrey's watchful eye, Hermione forced her shoulders to remain rigid as she took in the Great Hall for the first time since the almighty battle had reached its conclusion here three days ago.

The room she had always considered as Hogwart's beating heart stood bare and desolate, as if the very soul of the place had been sucked out through the many holes and cracks that had been inflicted on the ancient building.

Criss-crossing slants of light, filled with dancing dust motes, drew Hermione's eye upwards to where the enchanted ceiling lay plain and dormant, the absence of the projection of the sky beyond only serving to further highlight what had been lost.

Evidently sensing her malaise, Harry whispered, "We don't have to do this right now."

"Yes," replied Hermione resolutely, "we do."

Evoking memories of happier times, at the far end of the room a large circular table had been set up – one which looked very much like those used during the Yule Ball. It was surrounded by sixteen chairs, the two closest the main entrance left empty, presumably awaiting their arrival.

_Are we so few? _wondered Hermione, despondence once more threatening to overwhelm her in spite of Madame Pomfrey's medical intervention.

Directly opposite their vacant seats sat Kingsley Shacklebolt, his smooth head bowed low in a hushed conversation with another man that Hermione did not recognise. Perhaps in his early sixties, the newcomer bore an appearance that reminded Hermione of a Rhinoceros: his face was pitted and scarred by acne and she imagined that his skin would feel leathery to the touch. His hair, a gun metal grey that was matched by his clever eyes, was cropped short and flecked with white at the temples. There were, Hermione knew, several members of the Order and its allies that she had never met before, but she could not match this person to any of the descriptions of those people she had heard of.

Filling the question of his identity away for later consideration, Hermione scanned the battle hardened, but familiar faces closer to her, Professors McGonagall and Hagrid, easily identifiable even though only their backs were visible seated either side of the empty chairs intended for her Harry and herself. Next to the professors were Tonks and Aberforth Dumbledore, on the left and right of the circle respectively. The latter they had met during the battle itself, whilst the former was cooing softly to the tiny bundle cradled in her arms - the sight of the recently widowed new mother forcing Hermione to blink back a fresh wave of tears as she considered how close her own child had come to never knowing her father as baby Teddy would never know his.

The spaces in between were filled with the achingly familiar heads of flaming red hair that could only be the Weasley clan, the only interloper in the sea of ginger, Fleur Delacour, seated between her husband and her brothers-in-law, Fred and George.

It was at that moment that she saw her: Ginny. Although still underage and therefore not officially a member of the Order, there she was, seated between her mother and father on the far left of the table, she alone of those assembled having registered Harry and Hermione's approach. Fittingly, the three hundred year old words of William Congreve rose to the surface of Hermione's mind:

'Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.'

Her every heartbeat spoke of betrayal: Ginny was her friend – one of her best friends in fact – the only girl in her peer group to whom she had ever found common ground, and she had defiled that friendship by claiming Harry as her own.

Unable to meet her accusing gaze any longer, Hermione glanced to her side, hoping that Harry would recognise the question etched on to her features – have you told her?

In lieu of a response, Harry gave a barely perceptible shake of his head, but whether that meant he had not told her (and that she had figured it out for herself) or that now was not the time, Hermione did not know, but she resolved to speak with him about it properly as soon as the meeting concluded.

Either drawn to the newcomers by Ginny's eye line, or perhaps their approaching footsteps, it was at that moment that the rest of the assembled order members registered their presence.

"Harry, dear. Hermione," said Mrs Weasley, pulling each of them into a warm embrace in turn having been the first to find her feet. "So good to see you. Feeling better I trust?" she added, directing her question directly to Hermione.

"Y -yes thank you, Mrs Weasley," stammered Hermione, feeling somewhat uncomfortable as the centre of attention – _isn't Harry supposed to be the favourite?_

A series of warm greetings quickly followed; greetings that were more notable for those that were omitted than of the fondness demonstrated in those that did – neither Ginny nor Ron taking their turn on the carousel of welcomes.

By mutual and unspoken consent, the reunion broke up a few moments later, the assembled order members re-finding their respective seats as Harry and Hermione selected theirs, Madame Pomfrey conjuring a small stool of her own which she sat a discrete distance away.

As the murmur of conversations died away, a scraping of wooden legs on stone signalled the start of the meeting. However, where Hermione had expected Kingsley Shaklebolt to address the group, it was instead the man she had noted speaking with the auror when she had first entered the hall.

"Thank you all for coming," he said, his voice a rough rumble. "My name is Hirsam Brechin and I have been installed as the interim Minister for Magic. As my first act as leader of our kind I hereby disband the Order of the Phoenix with immediate effect."

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**TBC...**

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**A/Ns -** I know...I know. I'm a terrible person making you all wait so long for an update. For what it's worth, I hadn't forgotten this story, I was just stuck. I finally realised I was trying to squeeze too much into one chapter and this is the result. I pray you can all forgive me and that you like the new instalment. Ps - Sorry for the cliffie :D

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**_Recap_**

_**Prologue** - The final battle through Hermione's eyes. We learn that she is expecting a child and that Harry is the father. Unlike canon, immediately after Voldemort's demise, despite the destruction of all of his Horcruxes, his spirit rises again._

_**Chapter one** - Harry is rescued from the lake by Hermione and not Ron. Harry learns from the Horcrux in the locket that Hermione has long held a flame for him, so when Ron returns several minutes later than in canon, he discovers them locked in a passionate kiss._

_**Chapter two -** Following his altercation with Harry, Ron flees to Bill's but knows he can never return to his old life. After spending a night on the beach reflecting on his choices, he realises he has made a terrible error. He tries to use the deluminator to return to Harry and Hermione, but the magical bond which allowed him to trace their location the first time has been broken by his actions. Instead he uses the device to take him to places unknown where he might be of use. Meanwhile, Harry and Hermione consummate their new relationship in the tent leading Harry to worry about unplanned pregnancy._

_**Chapter three** - Ron is taken to Hogsmeade by the deluminator where he is attacked by dementors. Aberforth comes to his aid, putting him in contact with Shire (Neville) leader of the Hogwarts resistance. Recognising a chance to do good, Ron joins their cause. __  
_

_**Chapter four** - Hermione awakens in the infirmary two days post battle. She learns that she conceived because of the effects of the torture curse on her contraceptive potion as well as the fact that they are expecting a daughter._

_**Chapter five** - Harry explains the details of their escape from Malfoy Manor to Madame Pomfrey. We also learn that there is to be an order meeting the following day which Harry and Hermione wish to attend. Also in the chapter, Hermione is reunited with both her cat and her wand._


	8. Chapter 7 Unmasked

**A/N - **_My thanks as always to Katesmom2 for her beta check. Fixing my countless errors is nigh on a full time job. My customary recap is at the bottom of the page. _

**Disclaimer - **_Father Christmas tells me I'm on the naughty list this year, so I still don't get my wish to own the Potterverse. *Glares at lump of coal left in stocking instead*_

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**'Better Never than Late'**

**by Witherwings**

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**Chapter Seven - Unmasked**

**5th May, 1998**

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Hirsam Brechin raised his hand placatingly; a silent plea for order against the explosion of noise his statement had provoked.

Ron was on his feet. "You can't do this," he was yelling, an angry sentiment echoed by many of those also gathered around the circular table.

"It's an outrage!" agreed Hagrid and he shoved his massive frame out of his chair with such force that the entire table shifted several inches in the opposite direction.

Apparently completely unfazed by either the part giant's hulking frame looming over him or the dissonant voices attacking him from all sides, when the interim Minister next spoke, he did so in a tone that was both calm and even, his gentle delivery forcing the rest of the room to fall silent so as to hear his words.

It was a neat trick, mused Hermione - one she could not help but grudgingly admire - and she found herself conducting a silent reassessment of the man seated opposite her. Clearly more astute than his predecessors, it was already evident that this was not a politician to be underestimated.

"Thank you," said the Minister as the room finally came to order. "And I can assure you Mr. … _Weasley,_ is it?" He paused briefly to regard the young man's flaming head of hair. "Not only can I do this," he continued following a terse nod of confirmation from the red head, "but I have already done so. The Order of the Phoenix is no more.

"However," he added quickly, taking advantage of the fact that Teddy Lupin had started to fuss at that precise moment, forestalling what would have surely been a renewed wave of angry protests, "I will concede that perhaps I misspoke."

Hermione could not keep the scowl from her face: she was already starting to dislike the man. Having just witnessed his almost effortless guile in commanding a room first hand, she felt it highly improbable that someone like the new Minister had ever misspoken in his entire life. No, his words had been carefully chosen, she was certain of that much, but why, and to what end?

_So that he could assess our reactions, _postulated her logical inner voice. _Identify and cultivate potential allies within our group._

Mindful of that possibility, with the equivalent of a mental nod, Hermione smoothed the sullen expression from her features. Perhaps if Hirsam were to consider her a possible ally, she would be able to discover his motivations behind dissolving the group that had fought so valiantly against the might of Lord Voldemort's combined forces.

In an effort to convey that thought covertly, Hermione attempted to catch Harry's eye, however, such was the intensity of the look - one she could only accurately describe as a glare - he directed towards Brechin, he had been rendered completely oblivious to his surroundings.

It was then that she understood: Harry had not remained seated in an effort to curry favour with the new Minister, but instead (and no doubt owing to his weakened physical state) because he had felt _unable_ to stand at that point.

Concern creased her brow and she stole a glance over her shoulder. Madame Pomfrey did not look up from the thin strip of paper she was studying (presumably a readout of their medical status), however she must have felt Hermione's gaze settle upon her for she offered her patient an almost imperceptible nod of her head, which Hermione knew to mean _he's fine, Miss Granger_. She relaxed ever so slightly and returned her attention to the ongoing meeting.

"I ask only that you hear the new Minister out," put in Kingsley, who had, until this point, remained impassive and silent, his deep voice instantly gaining the undivided attention of the room, whilst simultaneously soothing the distressed Teddy.

A ripple of agreement circled the table and Hermione found herself nodding along whilst silently wondering whether Kingsley had been considered for the position of interim Minister instead - he certainly engendered a great deal more trust than the gentleman seated directly alongside him.

"Thank you, Auror Shacklebolt," said the new Minister in his equally deep voice, which, although similar in timbre to the former leader of the Order of the Phoenix, was rougher and far less pleasing to the ear.

Seizing the opening, he promptly launched into what was undoubtedly a very well rehearsed speech regarding his reasoning behind the decision to disband the Order. However, and in spite of her certainty that reading between the lines of this address would provide at least as much insight into current Ministry policy as the one given by their former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Dolores Umbridge, at the beginning of their fifth year, Hermione found herself listening with only half an ear, the majority of her intellect consumed instead by a new realisation that had surfaced within her mind:

_I know that voice._

_But when and where from?_

Ordinarily quite adept at recalling such details, Hermione frowned as she found herself unable to place the new Minister's voice to any specific time or place, a nudge to her right thigh from Harry's left knee only serving to deepen that expression as he momentarily distracted her from that task.

Had she verbalised her feelings, they would have surely issued as a snappish _what?_ However, as soon as she met Harry's gaze, she recognised she had no reason to voice that irascible thought aloud; the answer was written all over his expressive face.

_You too?_ she asked silently, knowing that Harry was perhaps the only person on the planet who would be able to translate her questioning look.

Replying by way of a subtle nod, Hermione had her answer - Harry also recognised Minister Brechin's voice. However, if the puzzlement that was also etched onto his features was anything to go by, the answer to questions of when and where he might have encountered the new leader of the magical peoples of Britain before, eluded him just as much as they did her.

Hermione gave her head a tiny shake that she knew Harry would read as _I can't remember eithe_r, and, for the time being at least, filled the mystery away, returning her full attention to the Minister just as his address was seemingly drawing to a close.

" ... if we are to face the renewed threat of an attack upon our very existence," he was saying, "we must put an end to our petty squabbling and recognise that we are on the same side of this war.

"I am aware that there are those amongst you who have questioned the Ministry's methods in the past - " Hermione felt Harry tense at her side as the Minister's cool, grey eyes moved smoothly across the faces of those assembled before pausing significantly on him. " - However I am here today to offer an olive branch. This is not the same Ministry you once knew. We need good people like you. We can make use of your skills - add to them in fact - but we cannot hope to defeat those who seek to destroy us when we continue to keep secrets from one another. I have dissolved the Order of the Phoenix in the hopes that you will choose to join with us - pool your talents and knowledge with ours - so that we may fight this war together."

His speech at an end, the new Minister regarded each of them in turn expectantly. Perhaps he was expecting applause.

Hermione knew better.

So similar was his rhetoric to the words spoken by the former Minister, Rufus Scrimgeour, what felt like a lifetime ago at the Burrow the previous summer, that she knew exactly what was going to happen next. So much for winning his trust she mused as Harry pushed himself roughly to his feet.

"And where were you, _Minister?"_ he demanded angrily, the inflection he placed on Brechin's new title making it sound like something dirty found on the sole of one's shoe rather than the honorific it was. "Where were you when the Ministry was torturing innocent school children because they disagreed with the company line?" He thrust his fisted hand towards the Minister, the back of which still bore the white scars that spelt the words I must not tell lies, although Hermione doubted the tiny script would be legible from such a distance.

"Mr. Potter - " cautioned Professor McGonagall, but Harry paid her no heed and ploughed ahead regardless.

"Where were you then, Minister?" he repeated. "Come to think of it, where were you when we were fighting this war? Where were you when Voldemort was rounding up and killing Muggle-borns? Where were you when he attacked a school full of children - "

"Now see here - " spluttered Brechin, his facade of control slipping for the first time.

" - No, you see here," boomed Harry, shouting the Minister down. "We were the ones fighting for our lives." He made a wide gesture with his arms to encompass everyone seated at the table. "We were the ones on the front line. We were the ones dying to protect our freedom. Who the hell are you to come down here, from your nice, comfortable office and tell us how best to fight when you've done nothing yourself?"

His angry tirade at an end, Harry swayed unsteadily on his feet sending Hermione from her chair as if propelled by one of Fred and George's fireworks. She was at his side even before his echoing words could fade to nothing and she grasped him firmly by one of his elbows - an action she noted with relief that Madame Pomfrey had mirrored on his other side.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he grunted, waving away their assistance even as he bowed his head against another wave of vertigo.

"I'm taking you to the hospital wing."

"No!" The vehemence of Harry's response to the Matron's proposal startled even Hermione. "I'm not leaving," he added, and he lifted his chin defiantly to regard the target of his verbal assault.

"We must all serve in the manner best suited to our talents, Potter," snapped Brechin who was glaring right back at him, his furious, grey eyes like tiny shards of granite,

Allowing no time for his equivocal statement to be interpreted, Minister Brechin grasped an handful of the fabric of his left sleeve, and pulled it back as far as his elbow in a single, rough movement which tore several buttons from the cuff.

A collective gasp escaped the lips of many of those seated around him as that action served to reveal the ugly, black tattoo that was instantly recognisable as the mark Voldemort bestowed upon his closest supporters.

As if in possession of a will of its own, Hermione's wand was in her hand in a heartbeat, the full power of her magical energies once more at her disposal now that she had been reunited with the wand she felt certain had been lost forever.

Directing the metaphorical barrel of her weapon toward the traitor's chest, Hermione felt her features morph into a scowl as her subconscious alerted her to something she had registered only out of the corner of her eye. Whilst her peripheral vision informed her that her actions _had_ been mimicked by every person gathered around the circular table (save for the unarmed Hagrid), several had levelled their wands, not towards the newly discovered Death Eater in their midst, but at those who had targeted him.

"That is enough," commanded Kingsley, his own wand pointed directly at Harry's chest.

"He's a bloody Death Eater!" bellowed Harry.

"Minister Brechin is no more a Death Eater than I am, Harry," put in Mr. Weasley who also held his wand in hand but directed it towards the ground instead. "Please … let us explain."

Harry's gaze darted from person to person like a ball bouncing off the targets inside a muggle pinball machine. Recognising the stalemate, he lowered his wand (although he did not relinquish his grip on it), and indicated that the others should follow suit with a subtle nod of his head.

"I'm listening," he said mutinously.

To his side, Tonks visibly relaxed and lowered the shield charm she had erected around Teddy. "Minister Brechin is … was, an Areani," she said as she rearranged the blanket around her son, who, blissfully unaware of the palpable hostility in the room, had somehow returned to sleep.

"A what?"

Although it was Ron who voiced it, Hermione could see the same question poised on Harry's lips. "The Areani are the Ministry's intelligence operatives," she supplied, the words pouring from her almost encyclopedic memory without conscious effort. "Think of them as the magical equivalent of MI6 or the CIA."

Although she had been speaking directly to Harry at that point, Fleur also seemed to understand the muggle reference.

"You mean he iz a spy?" she asked.

"For want of a better term, yes," Hermione conceded. "The Areani Guard is almost two thousand years old and … " Recognising that now was perhaps not the time for a history lesson, Hermione allowed her lecture to trail away to nothing, the silence left in her wake quickly filled by Harry.

"How do we know he isn't controlling all of you with Imperius?" he demanded. "It wouldn't be hard to make you all believe this story about him being a spy."

He was breathing hard again, and that, coupled with the tension Hermione saw in the muscles of his jaw, told her that Harry was recalling his own use of the very same curse during their break-in at Gringott's less than a week ago.

There had simply been no time in the days that had followed for either of them to discuss the ramifications of their use of an unforgivable curse against another sentient being. However, motivated by the look that she could only describe as haunted evident in the depths of his emerald eyes, Hermione resolved to make the time for that conversation as soon as was possible.

"Because I would not do this if I were." Kingsley punctuated his answer by re-holstering his wand.

"I promise you, Harry, we really are all on the same side," put in Mr. Weasley, following suit. "As I'm sure you can appreciate the Ministry is in rather a state of disarray at the moment. There simply wasn't time to brief you on his background: the Wizengamot only confirmed his appointment in the early hours of this morning."

"Please, sit down, dear," added Molly.

Harry placed his palms on the table and leant forwards, as if in that very action he would be able to discern any duplicitous intentions.

"Listen to reason, boy," growled Aberforth. "Even if the man is a Death Eater, there are more than a dozen of us and only one of him. He's not going anywhere."

When Harry still did not move, Hermione wrapped her slender fingers around his wrist in an effort to cajole her boyfriend back into his chair. "Harry," she whispered. "Harry, they're right. Please sit down."

Finally complying with her request, Harry deposited himself roughly into his seat, his eyes never once shifting from the skull and serpent branding on the forearm of the man opposite.

"I'm listening," he repeated, although with perhaps a trace less venom in his words.

Taking a moment to carefully rearrange his robes so as to cover the mark, and perhaps to reestablish some semblance of self control, Minister Brechin also reseated himself and said, "I may not care for your tone, Mr. Potter, but it is clear to me that, if I am to gain your trust, your questions deserve an answer."

Not trusting himself to speak again, Harry merely nodded his agreement as the rest of the group also retook their places with Madame Pomfrey summoning her stool so that she could keep a much closer watch on her patient.

Accepting his cue, Minister Brechin continued in a carefully neutral tone. "For much of the last two years I have been on a deep cover assignment to infiltrate the ranks of the enemy."

"You were obviously successful," stated Bill.

Brechin offered a grim nod by way of confirmation, before addressing Harry directly once again. "It took me nearly thirteen months to completely gain their trust," he explained, "but I was finally given the honour" - he all but spat the word – " of receiving the Dark Mark a few days before you fled your Aunt and Uncle's house last summer."

Hermione suppressed a shudder. She didn't even want to consider the vile deeds an outsider might need to perform in order to gain the respect and admiration of a group as collectively cruel and bigoted as the Death Eaters.

"When the Ministry fell, I planned to go to ground - probably would have," he added with a humourless chuckle, "were it not for a chance encounter with Auror Shaklebolt here." He clapped Kingsley on the shoulder in a manner that projected a certain degree of camaraderie between the two men.

"I was captured the night the Ministry fell," elaborated Kingsley, sending Hermione's brow reaching towards the dormant ceiling high overhead. To the best of her knowledge, Kingsley had gone into hiding shortly after the coup.

"Time was short," he continued, "and I knew that I had time enough to escape or to send a warning to the rest of the Order." That he had chosen the latter did not need to be voiced aloud, the image of Kingsley's pearlescent Lynx and the message it bore was forever etched into Hermione's memory. "Sure enough, no sooner had I sent my patronus, my position was overrun."

"Fortunately for you," put in Minister Brechin.

"Indeed," accepted Kingsley with a knowing nod towards the Minister before addressing the group as a whole once again. "As you have all no doubt inferred, it was Minister Brechin who found me. He identified himself as an ally and quickly agreed to furnish the Order with whatever intel he could provide before smuggling me to safety."

"At least until it became obvious that something big was happening at Hogwarts," put in the Minister, interweaving his fingers and laying his hands on the table before him. "When it looked like there was actually chance to take Voldemort down, I came in from the cold and joined the fight."

Fred was the next to pose a question, truncating the tangible silence Hermione had felt was certain to descend following Kingsley and the Minister's revelations.

"There's just one thing I don't understand," he said. "Why not just kill him?"

"Yeah," agreed George, alone in following his twin's abrupt change of topic. "If you've been part of Voldemort's gang of inbred thugs for nearly a year, why not just off snake-face in his sleep and be done with it? All this cloak and dagger bullshit is for the muggles."

"Because the man's an intelligence officer," put in Aberforth gruffly, cutting across the verbal lashing Molly Weasley looked set to dispense on account of her son's bad language. "The clue's in the job title, kiddo. He knew - like we all do - that Voldemort had an insurance policy against death. Killing him wouldn't have made a damned bit of difference and you know it; we all saw what happened here three days ago!"

Brechin tipped his chin forwards in deference to Aberforth's words. "Colourful," he stated, "but essentially correct, Mr. Dumbledore.

"It is no secret that Voldemort has employed the darkest of magic to ensure that he is virtually immortal," he continued. "In fact, gathering intel on exactly what those methods might have been was one of my primary mission goals." The knowing glance he directed towards both Harry and Hermione left neither one in any doubt that he had indeed learnt of the existence of Voldemort's anchors to life.

"Besides," he added, "it is fortunate for both of you that I did not blow my cover on a futile assassination attempt as proposed by Mr. Weasley here; my rank amongst Voldemort's supporters put me in a position to be able to save your lives on more than one occasion."

_What do you mean? _Although Harry's lips parted, presumably to voice that very question, he was cut off as Hermione's eyes widened in sudden recognition.

"It was you!" she said, her mind finally making the link between the man seated opposite her and the voice she knew she had heard before.

"Ah," said Brechin with a broad smile that creased his leathery skin more than ever, "I see I did make an impression."

"It's him," said Hermione urgently, her gaze shifting rapidly between the Minister and her boyfriend, "It's Selwyn. One of the Death Eaters who responded to Mr. Lovegood's summons. If it hadn't been for that Erumpent horn ... " She was rambling and she forced herself to take a breath. "Harry, he tortured Luna's father."

Harry was on his feet again, but before he could instigate another shouting match, the Minister cut across him.

"Actually, I helped you escape," he said defiantly. "Do you think even an idiot like Travers wouldn't have found you if I hadn't kept him busy with Xenophillius."

"But you nearly killed him!" shouted Harry.

"In my business, the end justifies the means, Mr. Potter," retorted Brechin. "You certainly didn't seem to care what consequences might have resulted from my decision not to immediately hand over my wand that night your motorcycle plummeted to earth."

_'Your wand, Selwyn, give me your wand!'_

In the split second it took the memory of that battle to push to the surface of Harry's thoughts, Minister Brechin had hefted his right leg up to chest height. There he released it, allowing his heel to make heavy contact with the tabletop - worn smooth after countless years of use - with a loud thud.

"My punishment," he announced, lifting the material of his trouser to reveal a gleaming metal shin that was fused, rather imprecisely, to living flesh; the ragged line where metal met epidermis appeared rotten and was no doubt incredibly painful.

Hermione felt the bile rise into her throat as a piece of the infected flesh fell away from the surrounding tissue before her very eyes. She looked away, fighting to keep the contents of her stomach precisely there, but not before she had witnessed the resultant wound being filled by what she could only latterly describe as rapidly cooling, molten metal, giving the impression of a tide of silver slowly inching its way up the Minister's calf.

Was this why the Wizengamot had elected to parachute someone like him into the position of Minister for Magic over the heads of the more obvious candidates? A man who was able to justify almost any course of action to himself - so long as it resulted in the successful completion of his mission - must have been very appealing to those tasked with choosing a leader who could continue the fight during such dark time. In fact, mused Hermione, it perhaps made him the perfect choice for the job.

However, in her opinion, it also made him very dangerous: unlike Harry, he appeared completely untroubled by the acts he had been forced to perform in the name of the greater good. She resolved to be constantly on her guard where he was concerned.

"My dear man," exclaimed Professor McGonagall who looked quite as nauseated as Hermione felt, "whatever happened to you?"

Brechin smiled grimly. "The Dark Lord is most vengeful," he said by way of an answer, before adding, almost conversationally, "Incredible piece of magic," and he tapped his fingertips against his shin for emphasis before lowering the limb to the ground. "Voldemort made some improvements since he bestowed a similar gift upon the traitor, Peter Pettigrew."

Certain that she was about to be sent from the room, Hermione chanced a glance towards Ginny. But whilst the younger girl did appear just as pale as Hermione felt certain she herself looked, the Weasley matriarch, far from banishing her only daughter from the room, held her youngest child close. Losing a son - even one who had been estranged from the family for nearly three years - had clearly changed Molly Weasley and Hermione felt a powerful pang of guilt that the Weasley's had become caught up in the war.

"When he severed my foot with a cutting spell I didn't even see coming," continued Minister Brechin, "I felt certain that I was going to die, but death, I have come to learn, is far too swift a punishment in the Dark Lord's eyes.

"He fashioned me a new foot, and whilst it is a perfect replica of the one he deprived me of, as far as the Healers have been able to figure, the magic seeks out all that is imperfect - by which I mean my own flesh and bone - and replaces it with a flawless facsimile of what went before. The Healers can't stop it, or even slow the curse down, I'm told I have perhaps two years before the curse reaches my vital organs ..." That no one could tell him what that meant for his chances of survival did not need to be spoken aloud, the charged silence that his words left in their wake made that point just as clearly as if he had cast the Sonorus charm on himself and shouted it from the top of the astronomy tower.

The Minister fixed his gaze on Harry. "I may not have a lot of time, Mr. Potter," he said, his tone sincere for the first time since the meeting had begun. "I can do this without you, but it would be churlish of me to pretend that your help would be anything less than invaluable."

Harry glanced to his side, a look Hermione read as _'do we trust him?' _written all over his face.

With no way of conveying her worries about the Minister's character to him at that moment, Hermione could only nod and trust that Harry's instincts were telling him the same thing that they were telling her - _yes, but be wary._

Harry swallowed hard, his Adam's apple visibly bobbing up and down as he made his decision. "What can we do to help?"

A genuine smile tugged at Minister Brechin's craggy features. "Thank you," he said. "I need to know everything that you and your colleagues here know about Horcruxes."

Harry nodded; he had expected as much. Although he didn't yet fully trust the new Minister, having tried and failed to rid the world of Voldemort's evil themselves, despite doing everything that Dumbledore had ever asked of them and more, he had arrived at the conclusion that they needed help, and so he began to talk.

* * *

" - and that's - that's everything," he concluded close to an hour later having talked himself hoarse.

Suddenly aware that he was still standing, Harry gratefully dropped himself back into his seat, pushed his reluctant fringe of raven hair out of his eyes and was unsurprised to note that his palm came away damp with perspiration - the sun was now high overhead and the day had grown quite warm.

He had told them of the diary, and how the young Tom Riddle had set the Basilisk he controlled on a student to create his first Horcrux. He told them of the ring, the locket, the cup and the diadem, and how the power hungry Voldemort had been drawn towards items once owned by the founders in which to store yet more pieces of his increasingly unstable soul, his audience a silent as the grave as they listened to his recounting of the destruction of each one over the past five years.

Finally, he told them of the snake (having already made the decision to conceal the true nature of his scar) and how the reborn Voldemort had chosen to place a final piece of his soul within an animal that meant as much to him as any living creature could given the twisted nature of what remained of his soul.

When he was finished he was surprised to note that some of his friends were openly weeping: he had found the act of finally divulging the secret he had been obliged to keep quite therapeutic, but, in retrospect, he could understand how the reality - or at least the parts of it he felt he could reveal - could be quite shocking, horrific even, for those who had only been able to guess at the truth until now.

"He must have made more." Ginny was the first to find her voice, her words sounding unnaturally loud against the palpable silence that had descended.

Harry chose his words carefully. "Dumbledore was certain he had only ever meant to make six," he said at length, hating himself for lying to his former girlfriend - even by omission - she deserved more than that and he vowed to explain the full truth of the Horcrux Voldemort had never meant to make to everyone that mattered to him as soon as was possible.

"But surely that is the only logical conclusion?" put in Tonks. "How else do we explain the fact that we all saw his spirit - or whatever the hell he is now - rise again?"

Although her question was directed towards Harry, it was Hermione who supplied the answer. "It isn't possible," she said with conviction, "the more Horcruxes he created, the more unstable it made what was left of his soul - "

" - It's why he was destroyed the night he killed my parents," put in Harry, determined to give his friends at least some part of the truth of how his destiny and that of the darkest wizard in history had had become intertwined. "His soul had become so unstable when he tried to kill me that he just ... broke apart."

Minister Brechin, who, for the duration of Harry's lengthy explanation had sat in silence with his chin rested atop his steepled fingers, chose this moment to interject. "I have no reason to doubt you," he said, " but nevertheless, I feel it prudent to at least study any additional artefacts that once belonged to the four founders; as your story proves, Dumbledore was not infallible," he concluded.

Harry gave a laconic shrug by way of reply which very clearly said, _if you must,_ whilst equally making it clear that he thought it a pointless endeavour.

Hermione was inclined to agree: the only other items that had once belonged to the founders of the school, and were known to have survived the millennia since, we're the Sword of Gryffindor and the Sorting Hat. The former she was certain could have never housed a Horcrux (it was well documented that Goblin made objects imbued only what made them stronger) and she believed that her own observations made the Sorting hat equally unlikely to house a piece of Voldemort's soul. The moment the frayed and timeworn hat had made contact with her head was one of the happiest moments of her life, an experience about as far removed as it was possible to get from her time spent wearing the Locket.

"There's jus' one thing I don't get," said Hagrid at length, his voice cutting through the heavy silence that threatened to settle over the room once more. "Why make a Horcrux out of a livin' creature? As powerful as that beastie was - " he sounded almost wistful as he spoke of the gigantic snake " - it were mortal. It don't seem like the safest place to hide a piece of his soul, is all," he added, sounding slightly unsure of himself.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" replied Ron, speaking for the first time since his early, uncontrolled outburst. "He'd just regained a body, he was weak, he wanted to make another Horcrux to further protect himself from spending another thirteen years as - " he stumbled over his choice of words " - whatever it was he'd become. The snake was just convenient."

"No!" Hermione's response was as insistent as it was immediate. "I've been thinking about this a lot," she amended quickly, her earlier shouted exclamation causing her cheeks to colour slightly.

Harry offered her an encouraging smile and took hold of her hand. Trust Hermione to have considered something that hadn't even occurred to him.

Drawing strength from his show of support, Hermione continued. "We cannot forget that this is the same person who orchestrated a plan that was both incredibly complex and fraught with risk to hijack the Triwizard tournament for the single purpose of delivery Harry to him. If convenience was all that motivated him, he could have easily taken the blood from any one of his enemies but he wanted Harry's. That he didn't choose the easier path tells us that Voldemort is methodical, intelligent and incredibly single-minded, and someone like that must have had a reason for choosing Nagini to carry his final Horcrux."

"And that would be?"

"I - I don't know, professor," stammered Hermione, feeling ridiculously like she had been caught unprepared for one of Professor McGonagall's infamous pop tests. "But I'm sure I could find the answer in - "

" - The Library!"

In spite of the seriousness of the discussion, for a brief moment Harry and Ron's simultaneous exclamation banished the as yet unresolved animosity between the former best friends and Hermione was able to see both of them as they had been when she first knew them - young, carefree and almost always teasing her for her love of research.

However, like an Indian Summer, their smiles quickly faded as the memories of the events leading up to the present quickly reasserted themselves, an uncomfortable silence quickly settling across each of the former members of the golden trio.

Minister Brechin took that opportunity to add what he clearly considered to be his closing remarks. "I thank you for your candor, Mr. Potter, Miss Granger." He nodded to each of them in turn. "You have given me a great deal to consider - " His words were unceremoniously interrupted by a series of musical chimes that seemed to be emanating from his robes.

In a single fluid motion, the Minister reached into his robes, retrieved a small circular device and flipped open its metal lid.

"Brechin," he barked and Hermione understood that it was some sort of communication device - perhaps similar to Sirius' two-way mirror.

She couldn't make out the individual words that issued from the magical device at this distance, however she deduced that they must have conveyed something of importance for the Minister nodded curtly, snapped the device shut and immediately got to his feet.

"The Ministry is under attack," he said without preamble. "It is time that all of you decided where your loyalties lie."

A scraping of wood on stone accompanied his statement as, to a man, the remnants of the Order got to their feet.

"We want to fight," said Harry without hesitation, only thinking to glance in the direction of his friends to confirm that assumption after the fact.

Hermione took in the resolute faces of those circled around them and knew she spoke for all of them when she said, "We're with you, Harry."

Minister Brechin gave a grim nod of satisfaction. "Wands at the ready," he said, his own appearing in his hand as if from nowhere. "We'll go in in pairs."

Harry reached for and found Hermione's hand. "Stick close to me," he whispered, just loudly enough for her ears alone.

"I'm never leaving you again."

"Good luck," put in Tonks as she took a half step backwards so that she was outside of the circle.

With that, the seven pairs turned on their heels and disapparated.

* * *

**TBC...**

* * *

_**Author Musings -** As always, I welcome any comments, and in this chapter's case, I am especially interested in your thoughts on Hirsam Brechin. He's my first major OC and I'm eager to hear how he is coming across. _

**_Recap_**

_**Prologue** - The final battle through Hermione's eyes. We learn that she is expecting a child and that Harry is the father. Unlike canon, immediately after Voldemort's demise, despite the destruction of all of his Horcruxes, his spirit rises again._

_**Chapter one** - Harry is rescued from the lake by Hermione and not Ron. Harry learns from the Horcrux in the locket that Hermione has long held a flame for him, so when Ron returns several minutes later than in canon, he discovers them locked in a passionate kiss._

_**Chapter two -** Following his altercation with Harry, Ron flees to Bill's but knows he can never return to his old life. After spending a night on the beach reflecting on his choices, he realises he has made a terrible error. He tries to use the deluminator to return to Harry and Hermione, but the magical bond which allowed him to trace their location the first time has been broken by his actions. Instead he uses the device to take him to places unknown where he might be of use. Meanwhile, Harry and Hermione consummate their new relationship in the tent leading Harry to worry about unplanned pregnancy._

_**Chapter three** - Ron is taken to Hogsmeade by the deluminator where he is attacked by dementors. Aberforth comes to his aid, putting him in contact with Shire (Neville) leader of the Hogwarts resistance. Recognising a chance to do good, Ron joins their cause. __  
_

_**Chapter four** - Hermione awakens in the infirmary two days post battle. She learns that she conceived because of the effects of the torture curse on her contraceptive potion as well as the fact that they are expecting a daughter._

_**Chapter five** - Harry explains the details of their escape from Malfoy Manor to Madame Pomfrey. We also learn that there is to be an order meeting the following day which Harry and Hermione wish to attend. Also in the chapter, Hermione is reunited with both her cat and her wand._

_**Chapter six** - Harry confesses the truth of his 'death' at the hands of Lord Voldemort to a shocked Hermione prior to the first meeting of the Order post battle. There they meet the new Minister for Magic, Hirsam Brechin who immediately disbands the Order as his first act in charge._


	9. Chapter 8 Insurance

_**A/N - **In response to a suggestion from a regular reviewer on my other story (thanks MariusDarkwolf), I will now post a reminder of the previous chapter at the top of the page to save all you mobile device users from scrolling to the bottom for the full recap (which is still down there if you need it, btw). So, in that spirit ... _

_**Previously, in Better Never than Late** - Hirsam Brechin reveals himself to be an undercover operative who had been posing as the Death Eater Selwyn. Reluctantly, Harry and Hermione agree to work with the new Minister. The chapter ends with the group rushing to the Ministry after an urgent call alerts them to an ongoing attack._

_**Disclaimer** - Even with my awesome new recap system, I am still not JKR. Potter does not belong to me._

* * *

**'Better Never than Late'**

**by Witherwings**

* * *

**Chapter Eight – Insurance**

**5th May, 1998**

* * *

When the crush of apparition next released her, Hermione found her centre of gravity off balance and she stumbled forwards slightly, her momentum only halted by Harry's firm grip on her right hand.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his brow puckered with concern as he pulled her upright.

"Fine," she replied automatically before feeling compelled compelled to add _honestly_ in response to Harry's somewhat skeptical look. In truth her loss of equilibrium owed little to the exertion of apparition and far more to the uneven, rubble strewn floor unto which they had landed.

The tiny smile which had ghosted across Harry's face in response to her assurances promptly collapsed as he took in the scene before them. Had Hermione's proficiency in side-along apparition been anything less than flawless, he might have wondered if she had brought them to the correct destination.

The entire space was filled with a dense, yet odourless cloud of smoke. Great columns of sunlight poured down from on high in a manner reminiscent of the first rays of sunshine after a storm, suggesting that the roof had been holed.

Several cracks, like those of a bullwhip, split the air on either side of them signifying the arrival of the others. But Hermione was barely cognisant of the sound, her stomach churned nauseatingly in a manner that owed very little to her pregnancy as her nose was assaulted by the unwelcome, yet all too familiar scent of fresh blood. The dark outlines of several dead bodies appeared in the haze as her eyes adjusted to the limited illumination on offer.

A middle-aged witch lay closest to her, her mane of blonde hair, streaked white by time, splayed out around her head like a halo, forever framing her blank, unseeing eyes in a manner Hermione knew would haunt her until her dying day.

_This can't be happening again,_ she thought desperately, as if she could somehow force her denial to take flight and create a new reality in which none of the pain and suffering that they had experienced over the last few years had ever come to pass.

She was just summoning the resolve to cross the short distance between herself and the unknown victim (so that she might close her eyes) when more things than she could accurately keep track of all happened at once, only the benefit of hindsight enabling her to piece together the sequence of events.

Perhaps guided toward their targets by their multiple cracks of apparition upon arrival, dozens of curses of every imaginable hue emerged from the smog and greedily devoured the distance between them. Amongst them, a particularly vivid hex that seared its pulsing blue energies onto Hermione's retinas in the split second it took her agile mind to calculate that it would strike her square in the chest.

She could not identify the curse by colour alone, but instinct told her that to take a direct hit from such a spell would be a very bad thing indeed.

Harry had evidently reached the same conclusion...

"Move!" he yelled.

All of this happened in the merest fraction of a second, and, almost before her conscious mind could register his shouted directive, Harry had wrapped his arms around her body and pulled them both to the floor, twisting himself around her as they fell in such a way to ensure that he would take the fullest force of the impact of the fall as the curse sizzled harmlessly through the space Hermione's torso had occupied mere moments ago.

Although objectively Hermione knew that their unborn daughter was well protected within her womb, instinct splayed her hands out on either side of Harry's shoulders to prevent her full weight from landing on her stomach, a grunt of pain hissing past her bared teeth as a jagged piece of ceramic – a fragment of one of the bottle green tiles that had formerly lined the curving walls, a detached part of her mind supplied – sliced into the skin of her palm as they landed awkwardly in a confusion of arms and legs.

Pushing her wild curls out of his face, green eyes immediately sought brown, a single question burning so intensely in their viridian depths that it didn't need to be spoken aloud: _are you all right? _

A wan smile flickered across Hermione's face. "Thanks to you," she answered pressing an all too brief kiss against his lips. "But we can't stay here," she added as another spell slammed into the hardwood floor showering them with splinters that would have surely scared their flesh were it not for the non-verbal deflection charm that Hermione had the good sense to erect a split second beforehand. "Can you move?"

Not wasting time by answering aloud, Harry scrambled to his feet and laid down cover fire back in the direction the initial barrage had come.

"MOVE!" he yelled again.

Having correctly reasoned that the bright flashes of his powerful stunners would allow their unseen foes to home in on their position, Harry grasped her hand firmly and literally dragged her to her feet as a second hail of spell fire pummelled the very spot they had just vacated.

They were running now, their legs little more than a blur as they sprinted away from their attackers hand-in-hand, the small fragment of Hermione's mind that was not all-consumed by their mad dash for safety, gratified to note that the extreme fatigue she had experienced earlier that morning was but a memory.

Satisfying as that discovery was to her, Hermione was not so foolhardy to believe she had overcome the effects of her exhaustion so quickly; so long as the adrenaline brought on by the battle pounded through her veins, she knew she could continue to fight. However, she knew equally well that those effects could not last forever – neither for her or for Harry. _We have to end this quickly, _she realised.

"We've got to find the others!" shouted Harry over the sound of their thunderous footfalls.

Of that there was no doubt, thought Hermione, but the question was _how?_ From behind them their attackers continued to yell out curses that slammed into the ground on all sides of them filling the air with even more debris blinding them to all but their immediate surroundings. Locating the others in this would be no easier than finding a Crumple-Horned Snorkack!

She was just about to say as much aloud when the disembodied, yet instantaneously recognisable voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt called out from somewhere off to the their left and they swung about and sprinted in the general direction of his voice.

"There!" yelled Hermione over the din of the splintering wood at their heels as several figures huddled in dark alcove coalesced from the haze allowing her to orientate herself for the first time since their arrival - the entrance hall.

"Thank Merlin!" exclaimed Molly Weasley as they skidded to a halt a few seconds later in the relative safety afforded them by one of the many fireplaces which lined the walls.

In spite of the fact that she was bent double, hands on her knees, gasping for breath, a small smile tugged at the corners of Hermione's lips. With their friends surrounding them they could still win this fight.

"Oh, but you're hurt dear."

Taking longer than she should have to realise that Mrs Weasley was addressing her and not Harry, Hermione glanced down at her white blouse now stained with several smears of her own blood where it had seeped from the wound on her palm.

"It's - just a - scratch," she panted, managing to force out only a couple of words at a time before her lungs demanded she draw down another great gulp of air. She had read that lung function actually increased in early pregnancy, but either someone had failed to pass that message along to her body, or else even the surge of adrenaline fuelling her at present was not sufficient to fully overcome the effects of exhaustion and malnourishment as diagnosed by Madame Pomfrey.

"You let me be the judge of that," fussed Mrs Weasley, manhandling her arm to inspect her palm before administering a simple spell to sterilise and clot the wound whilst the aforementioned mediwitch looked on, apparently satisfied with the standard of care.

"There." Folding her fingers down over her now fully healed wound, Molly cupped both of her own hands around Hermione's gently balled fist. "You need to take better care of yourself," she said, patting the back of her hand maternally leaving Hermione to stammer a thank you whilst she wondered, and not for the first time, exactly how much the Weasley matriarch knew of her condition.

Harry was the next to speak, his commanding voice pulling her from her thoughts.

"What do we know?" he demanded without preamble, his eyes shifting about rapidly from one person to the next in a manner very uncharacteristic to him.

_He's performing a head count,_ Hermione realised with a pang of loss for his innocence even as her heart soared as she performed her own mental count and found them all accounted for. _We should be looking forward to finishing school, choosing a career - _her hand slipped to her stomach _- raising a family. Not fighting for our very right to survive._

Her morbid thoughts were interrupted by the Minister.

"Death Eaters," he said declared simply.

"How many?"

"We don't know," came the gruff response.

"But we do know they are trying to make their way to the Department of Mysteries," added Mr Weasley. "The Minister has received a communiqué from a team of Aurors defending the - "

"They want something … "

Only when every pair of eyes had swung in her direction did Hermione realise she had interrupted and spoken aloud.

"What do you know, Miss Granger," prompted Professor McGonagall looking quite as old as Hermione had ever seen her. Once a mark of her great wisdom and experience, the lines which now creased her aged face spoke only of weariness and extreme fatigue.

"Nothing," she replied, still somewhat breathlessly. "That is to say, nothing specific, Professor," she amended quickly as she registered the disappointment on her former teacher's features. "But it is obvious that this is not just an attack designed to cripple the Ministry," she continued with conviction, addressing each member of their group in turn. "They're after something. Something they kept here whilst they were in power. Something they need."

"Like an insurance policy?" put in Ron. He looked embarrassed to have spoken aloud and his sister threw him a dirty look that said _what are you helping her for? _without ever needing to speak the words aloud.

"That was my first thought," agreed Hermione, ignoring Ginny's behaviour - there would be time to have a much needed talk with her later. "Voldemort craves power almost as much as he fears death. He _must_ have put in place some sort of safeguard."

After a moment of quiet consideration, Minister Brechin offered a grim nod. "I fear you may be correct, Miss Granger.

"No matter what we may wish to believe about them, I can tell you that the Death Eaters are methodical and highly organised, generally favouring intimidation, threats and the occasional surgical strike over outright war." A stray curse slammed into the floor beyond the cover of their alcove punctuating his point.

Hermione had to agree with his assessment: in all the years she had fought alongside Harry and the others, only the Battle of Hogwarts could be described as anything more than an isolated skirmish.

"This attack is nothing but a smokescreen for their true target," concluded Brechin, his inadvertent pun bringing a smile to both Fred and George's faces in spite of the seriousness of their situation.

'So wha' are we waitin' fer?" demanded Hagrid, his shaggy mane hidden part way up the chimney breast. "We've gotta stop 'em."

"Agreed," chimed in Kingsley. "But we do this right," he added with a meaningful look towards everyone present. "Use lethal force only when necessary; capture not kill. We need to know exactly what it is they are after."

Sounds of assent followed close on the heels of his statement and he turned his dark eyes towards the Minister, clearly seeking his approval. Brechin offered only a curt nod by way of response but his meaning was clear to everyone present: _after you_.

"We move on three," continued Kingsley, accepting Brechin's unspoken offer to lead the attack. "One, two … THREE!"

The hammering footfalls of fifteen witches and wizards (and one part-giant) immediately drew a torrent of fire from directly ahead. However, the devastation wrought by the Death Eaters was now working to their advantage. Haphazardly aimed curses flew harmlessly over their heads or else slammed into the floor ahead of them kicking up even more debris as they gouged huge, smoking craters in the hardwood floor.

Squinting into the ever worsening wall of dust, Hermione loosed a volley of her own towards a vaguely humanoid figure she thought she saw moving in the haze, an almost feral grin pulling at her mouth as she heard the strangled yelp of surprise as her stunner found its target.

Her grim satisfaction was to prove sort lived.

Largely firing blind until that moment, the Death Eaters' aim quickly improved as they were guided to their targets by the magical equivalent of the muzzle flashes of their opponents.

"Down!" yelled Harry.

Her trust in him implicit, Hermione threw herself to the ground, a white hot flare of pain lancing through her shoulder as it made heavy contact with what she quickly came to recognised as the base of monument that bore the inscription Magic is Might.

Paying no heed to the pain in her side, Hermione pushed herself into a crouch and laid down cover fire as she tried to ignore the whine of panic in her mind as she scanned the melee for some sight of Harry.

No longer shrouded in a blanket of smoke and dust, close quarter fighting had broken out just about everywhere she looked, combatants from both side forming loose alliances of twos and threes as each side sought to press home the advantage.

Seconds passed and Hermione had just about arrived at the conclusion that she would have to move from her position of cover if she wanted to find Harry when finally she spotted him duelling with at least two masked Death Eaters simultaneously.

_Harry!_

Pinned down by crossfire, Hermione could only watch on helplessly as he fought a furious battle against the two aggressors, her subconscious mind forcing a sage piece of advice from one of their earliest DA lessons to the forefront of her mind: "Inflict the maximum damage whilst presenting the smallest possible target yourself."

Usually the consummate dueller, Harry was either unable or unwilling to follow that advice at present. His wand sliced through the air aggressively as he pushed forwards, abandoning his usual stunning or disarming spells in place of all out attack in search of that one big hit that would succeed in bringing down either of his opponents.

"Your guard, Harry! Your guard!" Hermione screamed as the ridiculous mental image of a punch drunk prize fighter appeared in her mind's eye unbidden. She had been forced to sit through enough matches by her boxing mad father to know it was only a matter of time until...

**_CRACK!_**

Harry hit the ground with a sickening thud as one of his opponents directed a jinx underneath his nonexistent guard which sent him flying backwards across the room landing no more than three meters from her, his wand rolling away from his limp grip in a manner that suggested he had been knocked unconscious by the impact at the very least.

"HARRY!"

Heedless of the risk, Hermione dashed forwards, completely oblivious to the purple curse that ricocheted off one of her comrades shield charm until it sliced through the skin of her right thigh, a scream of agony tearing past her lips in spite of herself.

Unable to support her weight any longer, her injured leg gave way beneath her and she crashed to the ground, the impact driving all of the air from her lungs with a heavy grunt.

"Brave of you, girl."

_Yaxley! _The taunting voice was instantly recognisable and Hermione forced herself to lift her chin to glare defiantly at the man who had nearly killed Ron during their last meeting in this very spot.

"Brave, but stupid," he added, advancing unhurriedly on their position as he removed his mask and dismissed the other Death Eater whom he had fought alongside: "These two are mine!" he snarled.

Compartmentalising her mind against the pain in her leg and the sticky wetness that could only be her own blood soaking into the fabric of her jeans, Hermione dragged herself forwards on all fours, Yaxley's mirthless laughter ringing in her ears as she inched towards Harry, getting to him the only thought in her mind.

"I'm going to enjoy this," said Yaxley, his wand raised high above his head.

"PROTEGO!" Drawing on reserves of strength she didn't know she possessed, the opaque doom of Hermione's shield charm flared into life over both her own battered and bloodied body and Harry's as she collapsed in a heap at his side, her head coming to rest on his chest which she was relieved to note still rose and fell steadily. _He's alive! _

But even before Yaxley's first curse slammed against her hastily erected protections, the impact sending a great tremor up her arm, Hermione knew that something was terribly, terribly wrong. Her magic felt heavy and unwieldy and she knew she stood no chance of maintaining her usually powerful shield against such an onslaught.

_What was in that curse? _she thought wildly as she riffled through her almost encyclopedic knowledge to recall what spell could inflict such physical harm on her leg whilst simultaneously leaving her as weak as a newborn child but found no answers forthcoming.

Growing dizzy, either from the exertion of maintaining her stuttering shield charm, or else because of the doubtless heavy blood loss from her injury that she had still yet to chance a glance at, Hermione tried to blink away the stars already intruding at the edge of her vision as she desperately attempted to rouse Harry.

"You've got to wake up, Harry!" she pleaded, rocking his chest with her free hand as roughly as her weakened state would allow. "I can't hold out much longer."

She was right.

With a particularly vicious blow from their attacker, Hermione's shield collapsed completely, leaving them utterly defenceless and at the mercy of one of Voldemort's closest supporters.

With no strength to even so much as lift her head, Hermione watched in mute horror as Yaxley's heavy black boots came to a halt a few strides from where they lay.

Dropping to his haunches, he regarded her with his cold, gunmetal eyes. "I just wish I didn't have to make your deaths so swift."

Hermione's eyes went wide with terror and bewilderment.

A vicious smirk pulled at Yaxley's features and he tutted aloud like a disapproving bystander. "You haven't heard?" he said, clearly relishing every word. "The Dark Lord doesn't care about your precious Potter anymore. He will reward me greatly when he learns that I was the one to end the blight that was Harry Potter and his filthy mudblood friend."

He re-found his feet and Hermione forced her head to follow. If she was to die, she would do so staring her murderer in the face.

Yaxley raised his wand high overhead. "AVADA - "

Then, and for the second time that day, more things than she could accurately keep track of all seemed to happen at once.

Yaxley's wand sliced downwards though the air, the ghastly green energies of the Killing Curse already glowing at its tip.

Next, a streak of red that Hermione disbelievingly identified as Ginny Weasley appeared from nowhere, the youngest member of the Weasley clan placing her body between Yaxley and his intended targets, her own wand slicing horizontally through the air as she bellowed a single word, "DURO!"

Subconsciously translating the root Latin - to harden - Hermione knew exactly what was going to happen a split second before it came to pass.

Ginny's wand tip, now a hard as steel, sliced through Yaxley's stomach as easily as a hot knife through butter, the scream of terror that filled the air as he tried in vain to prevent his intestines from spilling out onto the floor silenced, as Ginny followed up her first attack with a non-verbal stunner which sent the now his now unconscious body flying backwards across the room where it landed out of sight with a sickening sound that was part solid thud, part wet squelch.

Time instantly snapped back to its normal rate of progression.

"Ginny!" gasped Hermione.

"Save it," snapped Ginny her usually kind eyes as hard as her wand. "I didn't do this for you ... I did it for him," she flashed a significant look towards Harry's still form.

"Ginny ... I'm so sorry. If I could just explain - "

"I said save it … " spat the youngest Weasley in a dangerous whisper.

Hermione tried to reach for her – she had to make her understand – but her head swam and stars peppered her vision with even that tiny movement. "Please wait," she croaked.

"We're done here," replied Ginny and she turned on her heel and marched away.

Defeated, Hermione lay her head on Harry's chest once more and allowed her eyes to slide shut, her last vision, that of a jet of red sparks – the universal call for medical assistance on a battlefield – soaring into the air from the tip of Ginny's wand.

* * *

When conscious next returned to Harry, he did not experience the familiar sensation of the world gradually encroaching into his dreams, but instead a sudden, and quite unsettling torrent of awareness.

_The Ministry! _

_The battle! _

_Hermione!_

This last thought he shouted aloud as his eyes flew open and he shoved himself upright in what he recognised instantly as a hospital bed.

Hermione's hand was in his in an instant. "I'm right here, Harry."

The tight fist clenched around his heart immediately loosened and he pulled her into his arms, that action eliciting a hiss of pain from his girlfriend. It was only then that he noticed that she was seated in a wheelchair alongside his bed in a room that was not Hogwart's infirmary.

_St Mungo's_, he surmised.

Gently lowering her back down, Harry's brow furrowed with worry. "You're hurt," he said, his eyes drawn to the bandage wrapped around her upper thigh protruding from beneath the standard issue hospital gown she wore.

"It's nothing really," replied Hermione with a laconic shrug. "The Healers just want me to keep my weight off it for a few days."

"And the baby?"

Thick lashes fell, a Mona Lisa smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she stole a furtive glance at her now non-existent waist.

"She's fine," she said. "Better than fine actually," and she withdrew a small photograph from her gown's only pocket and passed it to him.

A painful lump instantly formed in Harry's throat as his gaze settled on the magical image of their daughter's face, his expression morphing into a watery smile, as, if somehow aware of who now held the photograph, she began to wriggle and squirm all around the frame.

"She's - she's perfect, Hermione," he said thickly, unwittingly repeating the first words Hermione had spoken when they had first laid eyes on her less than two days earlier - somehow it felt longer.

He could have happily sat and watched her all day, but, the universe it seemed, had other plans, as an unexpected, but instantly recognisable voice intruding into his moment.

"Ah. You're awake."

Harry gaze swung around towards the door as he stowed the photograph safely under his pillow - this was not a secret he was willing to divulge at that moment.

"Minister Brechin," he said by way of a greeting as he sat up a little straighter in bed. For reasons that he could not fully articulate at that moment, he did not like the thought of appearing weak in front of the new interim Minister for Magic.

Brechin gave what might have been a stiff bow, but it was so infinitesimal it was hard to be certain. "It is gratifying to see you both alive and well."

The emphasis he placed on the final three words made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand on end. The realisation that they must have somehow cheated death yet again, banishing his day dreams of a happy family life with Hermione and their children, and replacing them with all of the same questions that had raced around his mind in the moments immediately after he had regained consciousness.

"How are the others? Are they safe?" He spoke quickly, almost feverishly. "Did we stop the Death Eaters? Do we know what they were after? How did I end up in hospital?"

Harry's Gatling gun of questions was interrupted by the raised hands of Hirsam Brechin. "Taking your final question first," he said, "I think Miss Granger is in a better position that I to tell you that," he concluded with a nod towards Hermione as he dropped himself into a simple wooden chair he conjured from thin air.

Harry's gaze swung to his right.

"What do you remember?" she asked simply.

Harry's brow pinched together in concentration as he tried to piece together the events that had lead up to his hospitalization. "I was duelling a couple of Death Eaters," he said slowly as if doubting his own recollection of events. "But I felt really weird," he continued following a nod of encouragement from his girlfriend. "like somebody had laced my breakfast with Fatiguing Infusion."

"You were exhausted," supplied Hermione, "the adrenaline of the battle kept you on your feet but nothing more than that. Yaxley was able to take you down with a simple Knock-back jinx."

"You saved me," said Harry. It wasn't a question.

Hermione's gaze slid to her lap and the blood stained bandage wrapped around her leg. "Actually I didn't," she admitted. "I - I tried, but I was just as weak as you. It was - it was Ginny."

"Ginny?"

Hermione nodded. "She was incredible, Harry. You were out cold, and I couldn't so much as stand up. I thought we were done for when she swept in and nearly eviscerated him. She saved us both.

"But I'm worried for her," she continued, almost without pausing for breath. "She was just so … detached. She damn near killed a man and it was like she was made of stone; not a single flicker of emotion. And when she looked at me … Oh Harry she hates me!"

"She knows about us then?" Harry wanted to know.

Unable to look him in the eye at that moment Hermione could only stare at her bare feet on the footrests of her wheelchair.

"Hey," shushed Harry, taking her hand and skimming his thumb across her knuckles. "We've got nothing to be ashamed of. We haven't done anythi - "

Whatever he had intended to add was cut of by the Minister clearing his throat loudly. "It may surprise you both to know that my visit was not motivated by a desire to help you sort out your torrid love lives," he said impatiently. "I find myself in need of your assistance."

Harry visibly prickled at the interruption. He opened his mouth to voice his angry retort but shut it just as quickly as Hermione gave his hand a timely squeeze.

She was right: they needed Hirsam Brechin at least as much as he needed them. Prophesied or no, Dumbledore's plan had failed to rid the world of Voldemort's evil, and, as yet, they had absolutely no idea why.

If the attack on the Ministry were to provide the first tangible facts that might eventually lead to a new theory that explained how Lord Voldemort had again cheated death, Harry knew he had little choice but to work with the Minister – regardless of his personal feelings towards the man.

"How can I help?" he said at length, managing to school his voice to betray little of his annoyance.

"Actually, it is Miss Granger's unique talents that I am in need of," replied the Minister with a slight smirk that suggested he was enjoying the somewhat crestfallen expression that Harry could not keep from his face.

"Me?" Hermione scowled. She sounded like a frightened school girl.

The Minister smiled, the action bringing little warmth to his cool, grey eyes. "I am lead to believe that you are rather accomplished with Memory Charms."

At his side, Hermione visibly paled and Harry knew that she was thinking about her parents who were presumably still living in Australia, completely unaware that they were about to become Grandparents.

"I – I've only used it once or twice before … " stammered Hermione before she fell into a pensive silence.

"Can't you see you're upsetting her?' demanded Harry, making no effort to hide his irritation with the Minister on this occasion. Subconsciously he shifted his body to place himself directly between the minister and his girlfriend. "What's this about?"

"Ah," replied Brechin calmly, smoothly switching his attention from Hermione's now downcast gaze and meeting Harry's furious eyes unflinchingly. "Well that can best be answered by returning to your earlier questions, Mr Potter.

"Whilst we were successful in preventing Voldemort's supporters from entering the Department of Mysteries without further loss of life on our side … "

Harry felt the tight knot of anxiety unclench slightly as he learnt that his friends were safe and immediately felt sick to his stomach for doing so: dozens of people had died defending the Ministry. Their lives were no less important just because he did not know them personally.

" … We are still unable to identify their primary target, and thus far our prisoner has been less than forthcoming with that information."

Hermione's chin snapped up. This was new information. "You were able to capture someone?"

"Just one," confirmed Brechin. "The Death Eaters may live to regret their callous disregard for the life of one of their own. Our Healers were able to save Yaxley's life - he's down the corridor … under heavy guard of course," he added.

"And where exactly do I come in?" Hermione wanted to know.

Brechin gave a slightly theatrical sigh and pushed himself to his feet. "Yaxley's not talking," he said and he started to pace the small room with a slight limp that favoured his organic leg. "Swears blind he doesn't know anything - "

"Have you tried Veritaserum?"

Harry's interruption brought Brechin up short and he rounded on him angrily. "For Merlin's sake boy, do you think I would even be here if we hadn't already followed standard procedure for interrogating prisoners? I thought you were supposed to be smart!

"I apologise," he added after a beat as he visibly tried to regain his composure. He started to pace once more. "Yaxley's telling the truth," he continued, "or at least he's telling us what he _believes_ to be the truth which is basically the same thing. Veritaserum is no more use to us than cough syrup … "

Harry warred between being affronted by the Minister's tone and curiosity. The latter won out. "How is that even possible?" he asked.

"Well that's the rub, isn't it?" replied the Minister pausing to gaze out of the small window, his hand clasped behind his back. "Our bests minds couldn't figure it out either until we performed Prior Incantatum on his wand … "

Hermione's blood ran cold. If the Ministry knew the Yaxley had been about to cast the Killing Curse on herself and Harry, then it stood to reason that they had also surmised that Voldemort no longer considered Harry worthy of his own attention. For reasons she could not fathom at that moment, that prospect made her distinctly uncomfortable.

"And?" prompted Harry, unaware of Hermione's silent concerns.

Brechin, still gazing at the shafts of sunlight streaming down between the clouds outside, uttered only a single word in response. "Obliviate."

Releasing a breath she had been unaware of holding, now Hermione understood. Recognising that death might not come before his capture, Yaxley had performed an extremely risky selective memory charm on himself, thus leaving him completely unable to provide the answers they so desperately needed, no matter what methods were used to break him. It was, she noted, similar in function to cyanide pills issued to muggle intelligence operatives in the event of their capture.

However, although she now understood the mechanics behind the situation, she still didn't understand how she fitted into it. She said as much aloud.

"I am no expert in such matters, but I am lead to believe that the effects of a Memory charm can be reversed."

Hermione nodded and swallowed hard. _I certainly hope so,_ she thought as her parents faces swam to the surface of her thoughts once more. "It works best if the person responsible is the one to counter the spell," she said, "but I've read that a master legilimens can forcibly reconstruct a subjects original memories."

Harry's gaze swung around to regard his girlfriend with a somewhat puzzled expression etched into his face. _You never told me that,_ he projected thinking of the times Hermione had covered their tracks on the Horcrux hunt by altering the recollections of their enemies.

Whether she had understood, or indeed intended to answer his unspoken question, Harry was not to find out as Minister Brechin turned from the window and spoke directly to Hermione.

"Whether by design or by _happy coincidence," _his last two words were laced with a heavy dose of sarcasm, "the Ministry's foremost authority on Legilimency was killed during the attack. No one else is even remotely qualified.

"However, as you have had some practical experience with in the art, I want you to attempt the procedure. Think of it as a battle field promotion."

Hermione felt something seize in her gut. She wasn't even sure if she could reverse the spell on her parents, let alone enter then mind of someone who had tried to kill her on more than one occasion.

"I - I don't know if I can do it, Minister," she stuttered.

"And you won't," came a new voice hot on the heels of an increase in the ambient volume in the room. The drone of the distant conversations from the hall beyond now noticeably louder suggesting that someone had opened the door even before the familiar voice had filled the air. "At least not right now," amended Madame Pomfrey as she closed the door and moved over to the foot of Harry's bed, three pairs of eyes following her movement in silence. "Miss Granger is in no condition to be exerting herself, Minister. Your prisoner will keep for another day or so."

Clearly unaccustomed to his authority being question in such a manner, Brechin turned to face the school matron. "I really must insist. Time is of the essence. Any delay now could cost countless lives."

"No, _I_ really must insist, Minister," countered Pomfrey, unabashed by Brechin's imposing frame or height advantage - it was a skill Harry had seen Molly Weasley exhibit with her brood on more than one occasion. "I am Miss Granger's Attending Healer and _I_ will tell _you_ when she is fit and ready to consider your request."

"But this is war, woman!"

"But nothing," chided Pomfrey. "Now out with you, go on, visiting time ended hours ago," and she bustled him unceremoniously towards the door.

Brechin held his ground just long enough to meet Hermione's gaze. "Just think about it," he pleaded, his tone sincere for the first time since he had entered the room. "We need you."

Hermione gave no outward indication one way or the other, but silently she had already decided she would do what she could. After all, Harry would do no less.

Having expelled the Minister for Magic, Madame Pomfrey paused in the open doorway and regarded her two former students fondly. "Now you two get some rest," she said, managing to phrase the instruction in such a way that it did not sound like a demand.

And with that she was gone, acknowledging Hermione's mouthed 'thank you' only by means of a fleeting smile directed through the doors narrow window.

* * *

**TBC...**

* * *

**Author Notes** - Huge thanks to both katesmom2 and Lorien829 for looking this chapter over for me. I don't deserve you gals.

* * *

**_Recap_**

_**Prologue** - The final battle through Hermione's eyes. We learn that she is expecting a child and that Harry is the father. Unlike canon, immediately after Voldemort's demise, despite the destruction of all of his Horcruxes, his spirit rises again._

_**Chapter one** - Harry is rescued from the lake by Hermione and not Ron. Harry learns from the Horcrux in the locket that Hermione has long held a flame for him, so when Ron returns several minutes later than in canon, he discovers them locked in a passionate kiss._

_**Chapter two -** Following his altercation with Harry, Ron flees to Bill's but knows he can never return to his old life. After spending a night on the beach reflecting on his choices, he realises he has made a terrible error. He tries to use the deluminator to return to Harry and Hermione, but the magical bond which allowed him to trace their location the first time has been broken by his actions. Instead he uses the device to take him to places unknown where he might be of use. Meanwhile, Harry and Hermione consummate their new relationship in the tent leading Harry to worry about unplanned pregnancy._

_**Chapter three** - Ron is taken to Hogsmeade by the deluminator where he is attacked by dementors. Aberforth comes to his aid, putting him in contact with Shire (Neville) leader of the Hogwarts resistance. Recognising a chance to do good, Ron joins their cause. __  
_

_**Chapter four** - Hermione awakens in the infirmary two days post battle. She learns that she conceived because of the effects of the torture curse on her contraceptive potion as well as the fact that they are expecting a daughter._

_**Chapter five** - Harry explains the details of their escape from Malfoy Manor to Madame Pomfrey. We also learn that there is to be an order meeting the following day which Harry and Hermione wish to attend. Also in the chapter, Hermione is reunited with both her cat and her wand._

_**Chapter six** - Harry confesses the truth of his 'death' at the hands of Lord Voldemort to a shocked Hermione prior to the first meeting of the Order post battle. There they meet the new Minister for Magic, Hirsam Brechin who immediately disbands the Order as his first act in charge._

_**Chapter seven** - __Hirsam Brechin reveals himself to be an undercover operative who had been posing as the Death Eater Selwyn. Reluctantly, Harry and Hermione agree to work with the new Minister. The chapter ends with an urgent call informing the group of an attack on the Ministry._


	10. Chapter 9 Anchored

**A/N - **_Hello? Is this thing on? *Taps mic* I know it has been a very long time since my last update. As such, my customary recap is down yonder. _

**Disclaimer -** _I trust by now we all know who owns Potter? Hint: It's not me._

* * *

**'Better Never than Late '**

**by Witherwings**

* * *

**Chapter Nine - Anchored **

**8th May, 1998**

* * *

"Are you absolutely certain you still want to go through with this?"

Hermione felt her brow furrow in mild annoyance. Although Harry had not voiced it in quite so many words, she was not blind to the fact that her boyfriend had strong reservations regarding Brechin's scheme.

"Positive," she replied, her tone carefully neutral in an effort to betray none of her irritation. After all, his anxieties were hardly the standard, run-of-the-mill neuroses of an overprotective father-to-be. The risks she faced were all too real for that.

Even so, nothing in the many books she had pored over during her recent period of hospitalisation led her to believe that she was in any way unequal to the task and she had finally consented to the Minister's request when Madame Pomfrey had been able to assure her, albeit grudgingly, that the procedure posed no risk to her unborn daughter.

Not that it could ever be described as safe. Not for her at any rate.

As with all memory charms, the caster was required, for want of a better term, to _enter_ the subject's mind. However, where suppressing, removing or even implanting a new memory was a relatively simple task, to forcibly rebuild someone's original neural pathways from scratch carried with it a far greater risk; the dozen or so documented cases she had been able to unearth, recording at least two instances of so called 'voiding' where the caster's own consciousness had become trapped within the subject's mind.

Should that occur, although her body would continue to live on, it would be little more than a mindless vessel for the child growing within.

_But that is something that only happens to other people,_ she told herself firmly. Was she not the most gifted witch of her generation? Had the Minister for Magic not chosen her personally? Surely she could beat the odds and extract the information they so desperately needed without placing herself at unnecessary risk.

_Or is that what everyone, muggle and magical alike, tells themselves before partaking in a dangerous activity?_ countered her bothersome inner voice. _It won't happen to me._

Hitting uncomfortably close to home, Hermione shook her head in an effort to push the errant thought away. _I will succeed. I have to to succeed,_ she thought ardently as if she could force the universe to guarantee her success by sheer force of will.

Her thoughts were forcibly returned to the present as a cool, feminine voice chose that moment to announce their arrival at their destination: "Level Nine, Department of Mysteries."

With Azkaban no longer secure and the Ministry's Protective Enchantment Division beyond stretched in their efforts to sure up the magical defences of its key instillations, the decision had been taken to imprison Yaxley in one of the detention cells below courtrooms on level ten: one of the few areas under their control that remained well protected.

An icy serpent worked its way up Hermione's spine as the lift doors rattled open and she and Harry, the car's only occupants, exited into the familiar, dimly lit corridor far below the streets of muggle London, her thoughts never far from the last time they had entered this part of the Ministry. Then, as now, they had been on a mission of retrieval, but as difficult and dangerous as infiltrating the then enemy controlled Ministry had been, that task now seemed to pale into insignificance against the challenge that awaited her. In fact, such was the speed with which her previous conviction in her chances of success was slipping away, Hermione couldn't help but wonder if the Dementors, though long since banished from these halls, could somehow forever taint a place with misery and self-doubt.

As if somehow aware of her own vacillation, Harry chose that moment to press his point: "I just don't understand why it has to be ... "

His words, obviously another, none-to-subtle attempt to persuade her to reconsider her participation, trailed away unexpectedly and it took Hermione several long moments to understand why.

_Our conversation isn't private anymore._

Although they had passed through several security checkpoints already, Hermione was not particularly surprised to see two more figures, clad in the familiar grey robes of the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol, standing guard at the far end of the corridor.

In expectation of a second Death Eater raid to retrieve whatever had been denied them during their first attack, the Ministry remained on high alert and Hermione was very pleased to see that their new Minister for Magic appeared to be taking the issue of security far more seriously than several of his predecessors.

"Names?" grunted the larger of the two as they drew within earshot.

"Harry Potter and Hermione Granger."

In response to Harry's announcement, and in a manner she knew he had long since learned to tolerate but that still riled her immeasurably, two pairs of eyes immediately swung towards his hairline. Given all that he had done for the magical world, all that he had sacrificed, she could not help but feel that he deserved far more than to be gawked at like some sort of curio or grotesque attraction in a Victorian travelling show.

Requiring every ounce of her sizeable self control to prevent herself from berating the two men for their impropriety, Hermione added, "We have orders from Minister Brechin to interrogate the Death Eater in custody."

Despite her best efforts, something in her tone must have spoken of her annoyance, because when the man next spoke – the more senior of the two she presumed – his voice carried with it a hint of contrition.

"Of course, Miss Granger. Both you and Mr Potter are expected," he replied, his gaze shifting rapidly between her scowling mien, Harry's fringe and the distinctly muggle-looking clipboard he held in his meaty palm. "But I'm afraid that I am going to need you both to surrender your wands ... I also require a sample of your blood," he added apologetically.

"I'm starting to feel like a pin-cushion," grumbled Harry to no one in particular.

As the very person who had proposed the new security measures in the first place, Hermione ignored Harry's barely audible complaint, duly placed her wand on the indicated table and offered her left hand to the MLE officer with a tight smile.

Setting his clipboard down, the guard – Sylvan, she now noted, his golden name badge drawing her gaze – retrieved a short blade, no bigger than a letter opener, from within the folds of his robes.

With a grip that was surprisingly gentle given that his hands were easily twice the size of her's, Officer Sylvan softly cupped her proffered palm and pierced the tip of her index finger with the knife's needle-like point.

Having evaded capture for close to a year, and even entered supposedly secure facilities using nothing more than their wits and a dose of Polyjuice potion, Hermione's sharp intellect had long been considering a means of detecting such disguised individuals (albeit with little success) in the hopes of preventing their enemies from utilising precisely the same tactics against them. When the solution had finally presented itself to her exactly one week ago to the day, it had been almost frustrating in its simplicity.

_Has it only been a week?_ she wondered idly, the memory of their audacious break-in at Gringotts seemingly from another century, and not from a mere seven days ago.

When she had boarded that cart for the nauseating ride into the catacombs that housed the collective wealth of the magical peoples of Britain, it was entirely fair to say that she had all but given up on ever finding a solution to the problem – witnessing the effects of the Thief's Downfall on Luna's Polyjuiced appearance immediately lifted that malaise. Scared out of her mind though she was, a detached part of her consciousness was enthralled with the ease with which the enchanted waterfall was able to wash away both the glamours she had placed on herself and Dean and Luna's Bellatrix disguise with no more difficulty than soap cutting through dirt.

Initially hopeful that the goblins could be persuaded to share their knowledge of the enchanted waterfall willingly, Hermione had quickly been reminded of the fact that neither their lust for gold, nor their distrust of wizards in general had been overstated: the price demanded beyond anything even the richest of wizarding nations could afford.

Were it not for Bill Weasley's single-mindedness, that would have been the end of it; the eldest Weasley son able to use his relationship with the goblins to procure a small monthly supply of the enchanted water – just enough to test a few drops of each person's blood – at a still exorbitant, but just about affordable price. It wasn't ideal, but it was certainly better than the alternative. Voldermort's supporters may not have been able to take what they wanted by force, but she was certain that they would try again.

_Perhaps it's better like this,_ she thought even as she inhaled sharply over her teeth as the stiletto blade cut into her flesh. A tiny prick on the finger won her vote over a complete drenching any day of the week.

Unsure if he was even aware that he was performing the procedure in front of its creator, Hermione watched impassively as Sylvan caught a few drops of her blood in a phial he had conjured from thin air before pocketing the dagger and holding out his free hand expectantly.

Anticipating his commanding officer's needs, the younger of the two men had already summoned the small, glass bottle that contained a sample of the enchanted water, and pressed it wordlessly into his open palm.

Offering his thanks by way of a curt nod, Officer Sylvan wasted no time in dispensing a single drop of the colourless liquid into the phial. Although the resultant amalgam appeared unchanged in either colour or consistency, he still made a show of holding the glass tube up to the nearest lamp for a brief inspection. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, the officer then spoke the words to cast a simple diagnostic spell and he passed his wand over both the sample in his container and the bead of fresh blood that had blossomed on Hermione's finger tip.

"Cleared," he stated gruffly after a moment spent silently studying the thin ribbon of parchment which had spewed forth from his wand, the results evidently confirming that the magically cleansed sample in the phial matched the blood still pumping in Hermione's veins. "Your wand," he added, thrusting the magical conduit back at her.

Thinking that manners were obviously not a requirement for a job in the MLE, Hermione took her wand and stepped to one side whilst the guards repeated the authentication test on Harry who joined her a few moments later looking surly.

Recognising that his dour mood had little to do with the latest wound inflicted upon his finger, but equally aware that now was not the time to continue their earlier conversation, Hermione fell into step behind him and offered only the tiniest inclination of her chin towards the guards as they moved past their checkpoint and onto the familiar flight of stairs on the left hand side that led to the courtrooms below.

Despite being one of the few areas of the Ministry not to bear the scars of the most recent battle, the narrow, torch lit corridor somehow managed to feel even less welcoming that the bleak devastation of the floors above.

Six years though it had been, the memory of a descent down a similar staircase on the occasion of Sir Nicolas's five-hundredth Deathday party immediately pushed its way to the forefront of Hermione's mind as the temperature fell noticeably and her skin turned to goose flesh.

Then, the air had owed its frigid chill to the presence of several ghosts and Hermione wondered if the same was true now. How many unseen spectres, victims of Voldemort's reign of terror against those born into non-magical families, were now doomed to haunt these corridors for all time?

Unprepared for the explosion of grief she experienced in her gut as she considered the dozens of families who had lost either a mother, a father, or in some cases both, Hermione channelled every ounce of her sizeable mental discipline to forced those thoughts into a sealed box in her mind; there would be time to grieve later.

Now the stairwell opened out and they passed by several heavy wooden doors without stopping, the staccato beats of their footsteps echoing against the unadorned stone walls the only sound as they moved along the arrow straight corridor in silence.

On the left one of the doors hung limply on its hinges, the scorched wood bearing testament to someone's largely ineffectual efforts to remove all traces of the crimes committed in the room beyond, a handful of the peeling letters that Hermione knew had once spelled out the words 'Muggle-Born Registration Commission' still clinging to the blackened wood.

At her side, Harry appeared to take no notice of any of these things, his gaze fixated on some unseeing point a few inches ahead of each stride, hands thrust deep within his pockets.

Their privacy once again assured, and in no mood to dance around the issue that was so clearly troubling him, Hermione came to an abrupt halt. "We're not going any further until you talk to me, Harry Potter." She fought the urge to fold her arms across her chest defensively as he finally registered her absence at his side and turned to face her. "Even a Grimlock can see that something's troubling you," she added referring to the blind creatures they had once studied in school.

Fault lines of stress fractured Harry's usually boyish features. "There's nothing to talk about," he snapped, his jaw line as taut as a high wire. "It's pretty clear you've already made up your mind."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest but closed it quickly, repeating the motion several times as she found she was unable to refute his accusation. At no point during her extensive research into the procedure had she thought to consult him regarding her involvement. Three days spent cooped up inside their hospital rooms meant they had discussed a great many things – their worries over Ginny; his guilt at using an unforgivable curse – yet her decision on this matter had been distinctly unilateral.

Twisting her fingers together guiltily she opened her mouth to apologise but found herself cut off by a still seething Harry.

"I told you - it doesn't matter," he snapped.

Hermione's temper flared in spite of herself – he could be so stubborn sometimes. "Of course it matters, Harry," she retorted. "_You_ matter. It's just that I've been on my own for so long now - I didn't even think to - I should have ... " She was rambling and she forced herself to stop speaking whilst she fought to order her racing thoughts.

Willing him to understand, she locked her eyes with his and closed the physical gap between them. "This ... _us_," she gestured back and forth between them, "is still so new to me, it didn't even occur to me that I should talk to you ... I'm not trying to excuse myself," she added quickly, not wishing to sound callous, "I should have come to you, I can see that now, but I want you to understand. Since I sent my parents away I've been alone, responsible for my own actions. In truth it's been like that for a long time. I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's going to take a little while for me to get used to the idea of being a _we._"

Having said her piece, Hermione fell into an uneasy silence, her gaze still riveted to her boyfriend's; his thoughts, usually an open book to her, unreadable behind the flickering glow of the torch light reflected there.

Time seemed to crawl, her very real fear that she had irrevocably damaged their relationship growing by the second. But, just as she thought that she couldn't bear the silence any longer, Harry ran a shaky hand through his unruly hair and fixed her with a look she had no trouble identifying at all: _dread._

"I just don't understand why it has to be you."

"Minister Brechin explained all of this," Hermione replied not unkindly. "I'm the only one who is even remotely qualified to discover what Yaxley is trying to hide from us."

Harry's response was almost instantaneous. Clearly he had been thinking about the matter a great deal. "What about foreign Ministries?" he said. "Surely there are people more qualified than you abroad? Why can't Brechin call in a favour or two?"

Hermione's features pinched into a look that could only be described as hurt. Although she was not so narcissistic to believe that she alone could reintegrate Yaxley's lost memories, this was the first time she could recall Harry openly questioning her abilities and she could not pretend that the implication did not sting a little.

"I'm sure there are," she said as evenly as she were able. "But you can't have failed to notice that the wizarding world as a whole is borderline xenophobic? Think about the lengths the schools take to hide their location, not just from the muggles, but from each other - "

"But this is different," insisted Harry, cutting across her sizeable list of examples of the insular nature of the magical populations of the world. "This isn't about keeping secrets anymore. This is war."

"Exactly!" exclaimed Hermione, seizing on his point and turning it to advance her own argument. "Help hasn't exactly been forthcoming until now, has it?

"Don't get me wrong," she continued without pausing for breath, "I'm not exactly looking forward to this, and if there were some other way ... someone to take my place, I would step aside in a heartbeat. But even if Brechin and the rest of the Ministry can get over their pride, paranoia, or whatever the hell it is that keeps magical nations so isolated, it could take days, weeks even, to cut through all the red tape, perhaps even longer before help arrived ... "

Her words trailed away as a thought occurred to her as if plucked from the cosmos by the ancient deities and whispered directly into her ear: Harry had never answered her question. "But then you know all of this already," she said. "What's really bothering you? I don't remember you being quite so averse to the idea when you ordered me to wipe Dolohov's mind."

She hadn't intended for her words to sound quite so accusatory, but by the manner in which Harry visibly prickled at her jibe, she had clearly touched a nerve.

"That was different and you know it, Hermione," he bit back, his voice growing in both volume and force. "We were alone then. You, me and ... " _Ron._

Although he had been unable to bring himself to speak the name of his former best friend, Hermione knew he sorely missed the irrepressible redhead. In spite of the unresolved tension between them, she reached out a hand to comfort him, but was shocked as he jerked his hand away and scrubbed it over his face before she could so much as entwine her fingers around his.

"We were alone," he repeated. "It was either that or kill them. What would you have me do? Besides," he added, leaving her no time to respond, "you weren't – " _pregnant then._

There it was. The elephant in the room had finally been acknowledge - albeit not in so many words. Although Harry had stopped speaking so abruptly that he might as well have been hit with a well aimed tongue-tying curse, his unfinished sentenced echoed within Hermione's mind just as loudly as if he had spoken the words aloud.

An angry retort immediately formed on her lips – _and what does that have to do with anything?_ – but she forced herself to stay her reply for the length of time it took her to count to five.

Harry took the opportunity to press his point. "If anything happens to you ... If you got trapped in there ... our daughter is going to grow up without her mother - "

"And if Voldemort had succeeded in killing you when you went to your death in the forest that night, she would have grown up without her father!"

The words were out of her mouth before she could even register them and Hermione's hands flew to her mouth in a futile effort to return the words from whence they had come.

Brave barely scratched the surface of his actions that night; that he had been willing to sacrifice himself so that those he cared about – those he loved – could live on was the most noble and selfless act she had ever known and she loved him all the more for it. _So why have I just thrown it back in his face? _she thought piteously.

However, far from stoking the flames of his ire, her cutting remark seemed to have exactly the opposite effect and the fight appeared to drain straight out of him.

Dropping heavily onto one of the long benches that usually served to offer a modicum of comfort to those who were waiting to be called as witnesses in the various trials which usually took place in these halls, Harry braced his elbows against his legs he bent his head low pushing both of his hands deep into the roots of his hair.

"This - this is going to sound awful ... " he said in a small, far away voice that faded to nothing before he could finish the thought.

Obviously close to properly opening up to her, Hermione slid onto the bench next to him and wound her arm around the crook of his elbow. "You know you can tell me anything, Harry," she murmured into his ear as her fingertips moved in soothing circles on his upper arm. _"Anything."_

Harry's eyes slid shut and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he summoned the resolve to voice something he had never admitted to anyone.

"You know how everyone tells me how I just like my dad?" he began eventually, his firmly closed eyes preventing him from seeing his girlfriend's nod of acknowledgement. "We were both in Gryffindor, good at the same sort of things, shared a certain level of disregard for the rules," a ghost of a smile played across his lips at that. "Merlin, we even look alike."

His words, slow and deliberate, as if he was still trying to order his thoughts even as they fell from his lips, abruptly trailed off and now Harry did look up, his piercing eyes, the one feature he did not share with his father glistening with tears.

"But if I could bring one of them back – just one – it would be my mum. My dad wouldn't have wanted it any other way. A child needs their mother ... "

Harry's voice cracked with emotion but he swallowed hard and forced himself to continue: "I've lived my whole life wondering what it would be like to have a proper family. I don't want my daughter to grow up wishing for the same thing."

Hermione's heart physically ached in response to his tangible need for the one thing that most people took for granted – _family_ – but knew it didn't change anything. "And that's exactly why I have to do this," she replied passionately. "Voldemort wants something. Something we have. Something he will stop at nothing to retrieve. If I can find out what it is, maybe it can help us ... maybe even end this war. I can do this, Harry. I can make sure that Voldemort can't destroy any more families ... What would you do in my place?" she added as something of an afterthought.

As if following the erratic movements of a paper bag caught in the wind, Harry's eyes darted from side to side as he fought some sort of inner battle against himself, his gaze finally coming to rest on the face of the woman he had loved for longer than he had ever realised. "I would do whatever I could to protect them," he answered in a small voice. "I just wish there was something I could do to help you … "

Understanding the unspoken implication – _to protect you_ – Hermione's face lit up. "Maybe there is!" Why hadn't she thought of this before? "Come with me."

Harry's response died on his lips, the manner in which his brow creased suggesting that this had been the very last thing he had expected her to say. "You've lost me," he stated, a ghost of a smile pulling at one corner of his mouth: Hermione was brilliant, no doubt about it, but she did have the tendency of voicing only the conclusion to her line of reasoning without bringing those around her up to speed first.

"Come with me," she repeated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Use Legilimency; enter my my mind."

Harry's almost smile promptly collapsed. "Doesn't that mean that we could both get trapped in there?"

"No." The single word was spoken with utter assurance. "The human mind is a complex and multi-layered thing, Harry," she explained patiently, slipping into what Harry had come to term her lecture mode. "I'll adjust my Occlumency shields to allow you to see my thoughts, but I won't be letting you move the furniture around up there." She tapped her temple for effect. "Think of it as a read-only computer file. You'll experience everything that I do, but there is no chance that you might become lost in Yaxley's mind because you'll never actually enter it yourself.

"You'll be my anchor," she continued. "A tether to guide me back to reality; any sign of trouble and you'll be able to pull me out … " Hermione's assurances faded to nothing as she noted that her beaming smile, usually so infectious to him, had failed to be replicated on her boyfriend's features. "Harry?" she ventured. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing, Hermione." His tone was flat, emotionless. "I knew you'd figure it out."

Hermione almost laughed. "You are good at a great many things, Harry Potter," she replied fondly, "but you're a terrible liar. Come on, out with it."

Harry released a noisy breath at let his shoulders sag in defeat; there really was nothing he could keep from her. "In case you've forgotten, I'm a pretty lousy legilimens."

"Nonsense." Hermione's voice echoed around the deserted corridor. "I've seen you read Voldemort's thoughts countless times – "

Now it was Harry's turn to interrupt. "That was different," he stated. "We were linked in a way that none of us truly comprehended; we had a … _connection_," he concluded somewhat lamely, obviously unsatisfied with his choice of words.

"But that's just it. Whatever connection existed between the two of you did not serve to gift you the skills required to interpret what you saw – you did that yourself. It merely altered the conduit by which you could gain access to his thoughts. You used a fragment of his soul, I use a wand; what's the difference really?"

Now Harry's half smile did return. "Do you really think so?"

"I know so. You just need to have a little faith in yourself."

Harry's entire bearing shifted immediately and he bounded to his feet. "What are we waiting for then?"

* * *

When Harry and Hermione emerged hand-in-hand onto the detention level a short while later, it was immediately apparent which of the dozen or so cells was to be their destination; at least half a dozen aurors stood guard around the circular cell that Harry's internal compass told him sat directly below courtroom ten, one of whom, he noted with dismay, wore the three-quarter length robes synonymous with a probationary officer.

_'What's Brechin thinking having a trainee guard such a dangerous prisoner?' _Harryprojected the question across their recently establish mental bridge knowing his girlfriend would be able to 'hear' his thoughts as readily as he could now hear hers.

A habitually private person, Harry did not mind admitting that he had experienced a certain degree of discomfort at the notion of being linked to anyone in such an intimate fashion, but surprisingly, with Hermione, it had proven to be anything but: simply a natural extension of their already almost telepathic ability to infer what the other was thinking that had long been a hallmark of their friendship.

Equally surprisingly, he sensed that Hermione felt none of his unease upon seeing Minister's choice of guard. In fact, had he been asked, he would have categorised her response as one of elation – a response he would not fully comprehend until she next spoke.

"Neville!" she exclaimed, pulling Harry along at a trot that quickly brought their house-mate's formerly pudgy feature's into focus.

_I really need to get a better prescription,_ thought Harry ruefully even as his friend's expression shifted from one of stoic professionalism to gleeful in about the same length of time it had taken Hermione to call his name.

"Harry! Hermione!" he exclaimed in turn, first clapping Harry firmly on the back before turning toward Hermione and pulling her into a surprisingly warm embrace.

"Oi!" teased Harry good-naturedly. "That's my girlfriend, Shire."

"It's just Auror Longbottom now," he replied, releasing Hermione and self-consciously adjusting his new robes.

"What are you doing here?"

Neville tipped his head from side-to-side as he considered his response to Hermione's question. "Not much to tell really," he began modestly. "There wasn't much I could do back at Hogwart's after the fighting ended, but I still wanted to help, you know?... To be useful. That's when I heard that Kingsley was looking for new recruits to join the auror office. I signed up immediately and I've been here ever since.

"Me, an auror," he added with obvious pride. "Can you believe it?"

The glint in his eyes made him briefly appear far younger than his years – more the fourteen year old boy who couldn't quite believe that he had a date for the Yule ball all those years ago than the strapping young man he now was.

Quite without warning, Hermione rose up onto her tip-toes and pressed a chaste kiss against her friend's cheek. "Your mum and dad would be really proud, Neville," she whispered.

Flushing crimson in a manner that would have made any Weasley proud, Neville cast about for a way to steer the conversation away from the still painful knowledge that his parents would never learn that their only son had followed in their footsteps. "Well, enough about me," he said, clearing his throat loudly. "What about you guys? I heard a rumour that you were coming down here today, but nobody would tell us why – "

"If you three have quite finished with the class reunion …"

The unmistakable voice of Hirsam Brechin rang out from behind them and both Harry and Hermione spun to face him as Neville snapped to attention. "Sir, yes sir. Sorry sir."

"Good," came the gruff response. "Because right now we have a job to do. Ready Miss Granger?"

Ready to wish him luck, Neville's gaze instinctively slipped towards Harry's before performing something of a comic double take back towards Hermione when he realised that the Minister had spoken her name. It was an understandable reaction; for as long as he had known him, it was always Harry that had been at the centre of everything.

Flashing her friend an apologetic _'I'll tell you later'_ sort of a smile, she fell into step at Brechin's heels and said: "As ready as I'll ever be."

"Then let's get this over with. Unlock that door. I want a wand on the prisoner at all times."

It was only then, as the assembled auror's bent to their tasks, that Harry's gaze was drawn to the dim interior of the cast iron cage for the first time; the cell's only occupant illuminated by a pale shaft of light which emanated from an opening directly overhead and seated in a chair similar to the one he had seen restrain Igor Karkaroff in Dumbledore's pensieve. Shackled though he was, Yaxley somehow managed to appear utterly untroubled, serene even.

"Check his restraints," barked Brechin as he stalked over the cell's threshold on the heels of the door that swung open on hinges desperately in need of some oil leaving Harry and Hermione hovering uncertainly at the open doorway.

"The prisoner is secure," came the almost instantaneous response.

It was at that moment that the prisoner chose to look up, his mask of indifference slipping only slightly as he regarded the man now standing before him. "Ah, Selwyn." He spoke as you might to someone who had knocked politely on an office door. "I would get up, but …" He allowed his words to trail away as he jangled his chains for effect.

"As you well know, the name's Brechin," corrected the Minister.

Yaxley's lips curled into a sneer. "I think not. Do not forget that I witnessed many of the deeds you performed in the name of the Dark Lord, _Minister_." The disdain that coloured his tone as he spoke Brechin's title made it sound more like something he had found on the bottom of his shoe than the honorific it was. "I saw the delight you took in punishing those filthy mudbloods; you can not fake that. Selwyn may not have been your birth name, but his is the man you were born to be. Don't bother denying it!"

To Harry's surprise, Brechin actually chuckled at that – an odd sound that put Harry in mind of the noise his Uncle's car would make first thing on a cold winter's morning. "Yeah, I had you well and truly fooled, didn't I Jacob?"

Yaxley's smirk faltered. "Have you merely come to reminisce, or is there a purpose to your visit?"

That chuckle again. "I always liked that about you, Yaxley. Straight to the point. No bullshit. If you must know I have come to inform you that you will be transferred to Azkaban before nightfall."

Yaxley's smirk returned triumphantly. "I'll be free by morning," he crowed.

"I wouldn't be quite so keen to return to your master if I were you," interjected Brechin. "Not once you've told us everything we want to know. You see we have found ourselves a new Master Legilimens," he added in answer to the unspoken question that had appeared on Yaxley's still battle bruised face. "I believe you've met in fact."

With that, Brechin limped aside allowing Yaxley's appraising gaze to settle on Hermione still standing in the open doorway.

"The _girl_?" Although not foolish enough to make any overt threats with at least half a dozen wands trained on him, the venom he managed to load onto the single word made Harry want to physically insert himself between the Death Eater and his girlfriend, an action he only resisted thanks to the equivalent of a calming hand squeeze that Hermione sent across their link. "You are more than welcome to try, Granger."

Not wishing to give the sadistic Death Eater the satisfaction of hearing the wobble she knew would be evident in her voice, Hermione squared her shoulders, stepped forwards, and without a thought that she might need to seek permission from the Minister, nonverbally cast the very same counter spell she would need to perform on her parents one day should it ever be safe to return their memories to them, her last awareness of the physical world that of Yaxley's self-satisfied smirk collapsing as she breached his defences and probed deeper and deeper into his thoughts.

* * *

**TBC**...

* * *

**_Author Musings - _**_Phew! I honestly thought I might never finish this chapter. I know it has been a long time coming, but I hope, if there is anyone out there still reading this story, that you enjoyed it. Seriously, is this thing on? *taps mic again*_

**_Recap_**

_**Prologue** - The final battle through Hermione's eyes. We learn that she is expecting a child and that Harry is the father. Unlike canon, immediately after Voldemort's demise, despite the destruction of all of his Horcruxes, his spirit rises again._

_**Chapter one** - Harry is rescued from the lake by Hermione and not Ron. Harry learns from the Horcrux in the locket that Hermione has long held a flame for him, so when Ron returns several minutes later than in canon, he discovers them locked in a passionate kiss._

_**Chapter two -** Following his altercation with Harry, Ron flees to Bill's but knows he can never return to his old life. After spending a night on the beach reflecting on his choices, he realises he has made a terrible error. He tries to use the deluminator to return to Harry and Hermione, but the magical bond which allowed him to trace their location the first time has been broken by his actions. Instead he uses the device to take him to places unknown where he might be of use. Meanwhile, Harry and Hermione consummate their new relationship in the tent leading Harry to worry about unplanned pregnancy._

_**Chapter three** - Ron is taken to Hogsmeade by the deluminator where he is attacked by dementors. Aberforth comes to his aid, putting him in contact with Shire (Neville) leader of the Hogwarts resistance. Recognising a chance to do good, Ron joins their cause. __  
_

_**Chapter four** - Hermione awakens in the infirmary two days post battle. She learns that she conceived because of the effects of the torture curse on her contraceptive potion as well as the fact that they are expecting a daughter._

_**Chapter five** - Harry explains the details of their escape from Malfoy Manor to Madame Pomfrey. We also learn that there is to be an order meeting the following day which Harry and Hermione wish to attend. Also in the chapter, Hermione is reunited with both her cat and her wand._

_**Chapter six** - Harry confesses the truth of his 'death' at the hands of Lord Voldemort to a shocked Hermione prior to the first meeting of the Order post battle. There they meet the new Minister for Magic, Hirsam Brechin who immediately disbands the Order as his first act in charge._

_**Chapter seven** - __Hirsam Brechin reveals himself to be an undercover operative who had been posing as the Death Eater Selwyn. Reluctantly, Harry and Hermione agree to work with the new Minister. The chapter ends with an urgent call informing the group of an attack on the Ministry._

___**Chapter Eight** - Harry, Hermione and the remnants of the Order race to the Ministry to repel a Death Eater attack. The battle proves too much and both wind up in hospital but not before Ginny Weasley defeats and captures Yaxley whom the Minister attempts to enlist Hermione's help in interrogating._


End file.
